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diff --git a/old/179-h.htm.2021-01-28 b/old/179-h.htm.2021-01-28 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..611032e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/179-h.htm.2021-01-28 @@ -0,0 +1,8922 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Europeans, by Henry James + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Europeans, by Henry James + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Europeans + +Author: Henry James + +Release Date: March 14, 2006 [EBook #179] +Last Updated: September 18, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EUROPEANS *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE EUROPEANS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Henry James + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + A narrow grave-yard in the heart of a bustling, indifferent city, seen + from the windows of a gloomy-looking inn, is at no time an object of + enlivening suggestion; and the spectacle is not at its best when the + mouldy tombstones and funereal umbrage have received the ineffectual + refreshment of a dull, moist snow-fall. If, while the air is thickened by + this frosty drizzle, the calendar should happen to indicate that the + blessed vernal season is already six weeks old, it will be admitted that + no depressing influence is absent from the scene. This fact was keenly + felt on a certain 12th of May, upwards of thirty years since, by a lady + who stood looking out of one of the windows of the best hotel in the + ancient city of Boston. She had stood there for half an hour—stood + there, that is, at intervals; for from time to time she turned back into + the room and measured its length with a restless step. In the + chimney-place was a red-hot fire which emitted a small blue flame; and in + front of the fire, at a table, sat a young man who was busily plying a + pencil. He had a number of sheets of paper cut into small equal squares, + and he was apparently covering them with pictorial designs—strange-looking + figures. He worked rapidly and attentively, sometimes threw back his head + and held out his drawing at arm’s-length, and kept up a soft, gay-sounding + humming and whistling. The lady brushed past him in her walk; her + much-trimmed skirts were voluminous. She never dropped her eyes upon his + work; she only turned them, occasionally, as she passed, to a mirror + suspended above the toilet-table on the other side of the room. Here she + paused a moment, gave a pinch to her waist with her two hands, or raised + these members—they were very plump and pretty—to the multifold + braids of her hair, with a movement half caressing, half corrective. An + attentive observer might have fancied that during these periods of + desultory self-inspection her face forgot its melancholy; but as soon as + she neared the window again it began to proclaim that she was a very + ill-pleased woman. And indeed, in what met her eyes there was little to be + pleased with. The window-panes were battered by the sleet; the head-stones + in the grave-yard beneath seemed to be holding themselves askance to keep + it out of their faces. A tall iron railing protected them from the street, + and on the other side of the railing an assemblage of Bostonians were + trampling about in the liquid snow. Many of them were looking up and down; + they appeared to be waiting for something. From time to time a strange + vehicle drew near to the place where they stood,—such a vehicle as + the lady at the window, in spite of a considerable acquaintance with human + inventions, had never seen before: a huge, low omnibus, painted in + brilliant colors, and decorated apparently with jangling bells, attached + to a species of groove in the pavement, through which it was dragged, with + a great deal of rumbling, bouncing and scratching, by a couple of + remarkably small horses. When it reached a certain point the people in + front of the grave-yard, of whom much the greater number were women, + carrying satchels and parcels, projected themselves upon it in a compact + body—a movement suggesting the scramble for places in a life-boat at + sea—and were engulfed in its large interior. Then the life-boat—or + the life-car, as the lady at the window of the hotel vaguely designated it—went + bumping and jingling away upon its invisible wheels, with the helmsman + (the man at the wheel) guiding its course incongruously from the prow. + This phenomenon was repeated every three minutes, and the supply of + eagerly-moving women in cloaks, bearing reticules and bundles, renewed + itself in the most liberal manner. On the other side of the grave-yard was + a row of small red brick houses, showing a series of homely, + domestic-looking backs; at the end opposite the hotel a tall wooden + church-spire, painted white, rose high into the vagueness of the + snow-flakes. The lady at the window looked at it for some time; for + reasons of her own she thought it the ugliest thing she had ever seen. She + hated it, she despised it; it threw her into a state of irritation that + was quite out of proportion to any sensible motive. She had never known + herself to care so much about church-spires. + </p> + <p> + She was not pretty; but even when it expressed perplexed irritation her + face was most interesting and agreeable. Neither was she in her first + youth; yet, though slender, with a great deal of extremely well-fashioned + roundness of contour—a suggestion both of maturity and flexibility—she + carried her three and thirty years as a light-wristed Hebe might have + carried a brimming wine-cup. Her complexion was fatigued, as the French + say; her mouth was large, her lips too full, her teeth uneven, her chin + rather commonly modeled; she had a thick nose, and when she smiled—she + was constantly smiling—the lines beside it rose too high, toward her + eyes. But these eyes were charming: gray in color, brilliant, quickly + glancing, gently resting, full of intelligence. Her forehead was very low—it + was her only handsome feature; and she had a great abundance of crisp dark + hair, finely frizzled, which was always braided in a manner that suggested + some Southern or Eastern, some remotely foreign, woman. She had a large + collection of ear-rings, and wore them in alternation; and they seemed to + give a point to her Oriental or exotic aspect. A compliment had once been + paid her, which, being repeated to her, gave her greater pleasure than + anything she had ever heard. “A pretty woman?” someone had said. “Why, + her features are very bad.” “I don’t know about her features,” a very + discerning observer had answered; “but she carries her head like a pretty + woman.” You may imagine whether, after this, she carried her head less + becomingly. + </p> + <p> + She turned away from the window at last, pressing her hands to her eyes. + “It’s too horrible!” she exclaimed. “I shall go back—I shall go + back!” And she flung herself into a chair before the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little, dear child,” said the young man softly, sketching away at + his little scraps of paper. + </p> + <p> + The lady put out her foot; it was very small, and there was an immense + rosette on her slipper. She fixed her eyes for a while on this ornament, + and then she looked at the glowing bed of anthracite coal in the grate. + “Did you ever see anything so hideous as that fire?” she demanded. “Did + you ever see anything so—so <i>affreux</i> as—as everything?” She + spoke English with perfect purity; but she brought out this French epithet + in a manner that indicated that she was accustomed to using French + epithets. + </p> + <p> + “I think the fire is very pretty,” said the young man, glancing at it a + moment. “Those little blue tongues, dancing on top of the crimson embers, + are extremely picturesque. They are like a fire in an alchemist’s + laboratory.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too good-natured, my dear,” his companion declared. + </p> + <p> + The young man held out one of his drawings, with his head on one side. His + tongue was gently moving along his under-lip. “Good-natured—yes. Too + good-natured—no.” + </p> + <p> + “You are irritating,” said the lady, looking at her slipper. + </p> + <p> + He began to retouch his sketch. “I think you mean simply that you are + irritated.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, for that, yes!” said his companion, with a little bitter laugh. “It’s + the darkest day of my life—and you know what that means.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till tomorrow,” rejoined the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we have made a great mistake. If there is any doubt about it today, + there certainly will be none tomorrow. <i>Ce sera clair, au moins!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The young man was silent a few moments, driving his pencil. Then at last, + “There are no such things as mistakes,” he affirmed. + </p> + <p> + “Very true—for those who are not clever enough to perceive them. Not + to recognize one’s mistakes—that would be happiness in life,” the + lady went on, still looking at her pretty foot. + </p> + <p> + “My dearest sister,” said the young man, always intent upon his drawing, + “it’s the first time you have told me I am not clever.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, by your own theory I can’t call it a mistake,” answered his sister, + pertinently enough. + </p> + <p> + The young man gave a clear, fresh laugh. “You, at least, are clever + enough, dearest sister,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I was not so when I proposed this.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it you who proposed it?” asked her brother. + </p> + <p> + She turned her head and gave him a little stare. “Do you desire the credit + of it?” + </p> + <p> + “If you like, I will take the blame,” he said, looking up with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she rejoined in a moment, “you make no difference in these things. + You have no sense of property.” + </p> + <p> + The young man gave his joyous laugh again. “If that means I have no + property, you are right!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t joke about your poverty,” said his sister. “That is quite as vulgar + as to boast about it.” + </p> + <p> + “My poverty! I have just finished a drawing that will bring me fifty + francs!” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Voyons,”</i> said the lady, putting out her hand. + </p> + <p> + He added a touch or two, and then gave her his sketch. She looked at it, + but she went on with her idea of a moment before. “If a woman were to ask + you to marry her you would say, ‘Certainly, my dear, with pleasure!’ And + you would marry her and be ridiculously happy. Then at the end of three + months you would say to her, ‘You know that blissful day when I begged you + to be mine!’” + </p> + <p> + The young man had risen from the table, stretching his arms a little; he + walked to the window. “That is a description of a charming nature,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, you have a charming nature; I regard that as our capital. If I + had not been convinced of that I should never have taken the risk of + bringing you to this dreadful country.” + </p> + <p> + “This comical country, this delightful country!” exclaimed the young man, + and he broke into the most animated laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Is it those women scrambling into the omnibus?” asked his companion. + “What do you suppose is the attraction?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose there is a very good-looking man inside,” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “In each of them? They come along in hundreds, and the men in this country + don’t seem at all handsome. As for the women—I have never seen so + many at once since I left the convent.” + </p> + <p> + “The women are very pretty,” her brother declared, “and the whole affair + is very amusing. I must make a sketch of it.” And he came back to the + table quickly, and picked up his utensils—a small sketching-board, a + sheet of paper, and three or four crayons. He took his place at the window + with these things, and stood there glancing out, plying his pencil with an + air of easy skill. While he worked he wore a brilliant smile. Brilliant is + indeed the word at this moment for his strongly-lighted face. He was eight + and twenty years old; he had a short, slight, well-made figure. Though he + bore a noticeable resemblance to his sister, he was a better favored + person: fair-haired, clear-faced, witty-looking, with a delicate finish of + feature and an expression at once urbane and not at all serious, a warm + blue eye, an eyebrow finely drawn and excessively arched—an eyebrow + which, if ladies wrote sonnets to those of their lovers, might have been + made the subject of such a piece of verse—and a light moustache that + flourished upwards as if blown that way by the breath of a constant smile. + There was something in his physiognomy at once benevolent and picturesque. + But, as I have hinted, it was not at all serious. The young man’s face + was, in this respect, singular; it was not at all serious, and yet it + inspired the liveliest confidence. + </p> + <p> + “Be sure you put in plenty of snow,” said his sister. “<i>Bonté divine</i>, what + a climate!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall leave the sketch all white, and I shall put in the little figures + in black,” the young man answered, laughing. “And I shall call it—what + is that line in Keats?—Mid-May’s Eldest Child!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t remember,” said the lady, “that mamma ever told me it was like + this.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma never told you anything disagreeable. And it’s not like this—every + day. You will see that tomorrow we shall have a splendid day.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Qu’en savez-vous?</i> Tomorrow I shall go away.” + </p> + <p> + “Where shall you go?” + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere away from here. Back to Silberstadt. I shall write to the + Reigning Prince.” + </p> + <p> + The young man turned a little and looked at her, with his crayon poised. + “My dear Eugenia,” he murmured, “were you so happy at sea?” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia got up; she still held in her hand the drawing her brother had + given her. It was a bold, expressive sketch of a group of miserable people + on the deck of a steamer, clinging together and clutching at each other, + while the vessel lurched downward, at a terrific angle, into the hollow of + a wave. It was extremely clever, and full of a sort of tragi-comical + power. Eugenia dropped her eyes upon it and made a sad grimace. “How can + you draw such odious scenes?” she asked. “I should like to throw it into + the fire!” And she tossed the paper away. Her brother watched, quietly, to + see where it went. It fluttered down to the floor, where he let it lie. + She came toward the window, pinching in her waist. “Why don’t you reproach + me—abuse me?” she asked. “I think I should feel better then. Why + don’t you tell me that you hate me for bringing you here?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you would not believe it. I adore you, dear sister! I am + delighted to be here, and I am charmed with the prospect.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what had taken possession of me. I had lost my head,” + Eugenia went on. + </p> + <p> + The young man, on his side, went on plying his pencil. “It is evidently a + most curious and interesting country. Here we are, and I mean to enjoy + it.” + </p> + <p> + His companion turned away with an impatient step, but presently came back. + “High spirits are doubtless an excellent thing,” she said; “but you give + one too much of them, and I can’t see that they have done you any good.” + </p> + <p> + The young man stared, with lifted eyebrows, smiling; he tapped his + handsome nose with his pencil. “They have made me happy!” + </p> + <p> + “That was the least they could do; they have made you nothing else. You + have gone through life thanking fortune for such very small favors that + she has never put herself to any trouble for you.” + </p> + <p> + “She must have put herself to a little, I think, to present me with so + admirable a sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Be serious, Felix. You forget that I am your elder.” + </p> + <p> + “With a sister, then, so elderly!” rejoined Felix, laughing. “I hoped we + had left seriousness in Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy you will find it here. Remember that you are nearly thirty years + old, and that you are nothing but an obscure Bohemian—a penniless + correspondent of an illustrated newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + “Obscure as much as you please, but not so much of a Bohemian as you + think. And not at all penniless! I have a hundred pounds in my pocket. I + have an engagement to make fifty sketches, and I mean to paint the + portraits of all our cousins, and of all <i>their</i> cousins, at a hundred + dollars a head.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not ambitious,” said Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “You are, dear Baroness,” the young man replied. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was silent a moment, looking out at the sleet-darkened + grave-yard and the bumping horse-cars. “Yes, I am ambitious,” she said at + last. “And my ambition has brought me to this dreadful place!” She glanced + about her—the room had a certain vulgar nudity; the bed and the + window were curtainless—and she gave a little passionate sigh. “Poor + old ambition!” she exclaimed. Then she flung herself down upon a sofa + which stood near against the wall, and covered her face with her hands. + </p> + <p> + Her brother went on with his drawing, rapidly and skillfully; after some + moments he sat down beside her and showed her his sketch. “Now, don’t you + think that’s pretty good for an obscure Bohemian?” he asked. “I have + knocked off another fifty francs.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia glanced at the little picture as he laid it on her lap. “Yes, it + is very clever,” she said. And in a moment she added, “Do you suppose our + cousins do that?” + </p> + <p> + “Do what?” + </p> + <p> + “Get into those things, and look like that.” + </p> + <p> + Felix meditated awhile. “I really can’t say. It will be interesting to + discover.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the rich people can’t!” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Are you very sure they are rich?” asked Felix, lightly. + </p> + <p> + His sister slowly turned in her place, looking at him. “Heavenly powers!” + she murmured. “You have a way of bringing out things!” + </p> + <p> + “It will certainly be much pleasanter if they are rich,” Felix declared. + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose if I had not known they were rich I would ever have come?” + </p> + <p> + The young man met his sister’s somewhat peremptory eye with his bright, + contented glance. “Yes, it certainly will be pleasanter,” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “That is all I expect of them,” said the Baroness. “I don’t count upon + their being clever or friendly—at first—or elegant or + interesting. But I assure you I insist upon their being rich.” + </p> + <p> + Felix leaned his head upon the back of the sofa and looked awhile at the + oblong patch of sky to which the window served as frame. The snow was + ceasing; it seemed to him that the sky had begun to brighten. “I count + upon their being rich,” he said at last, “and powerful, and clever, and + friendly, and elegant, and interesting, and generally delightful! <i>Tu vas + voir</i>.” And he bent forward and kissed his sister. “Look there!” he went + on. “As a portent, even while I speak, the sky is turning the color of + gold; the day is going to be splendid.” + </p> + <p> + And indeed, within five minutes the weather had changed. The sun broke out + through the snow-clouds and jumped into the Baroness’s room. “<i>Bonté + divine</i>,” exclaimed this lady, “what a climate!” + </p> + <p> + “We will go out and see the world,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + And after a while they went out. The air had grown warm as well as + brilliant; the sunshine had dried the pavements. They walked about the + streets at hazard, looking at the people and the houses, the shops and the + vehicles, the blazing blue sky and the muddy crossings, the hurrying men + and the slow-strolling maidens, the fresh red bricks and the bright green + trees, the extraordinary mixture of smartness and shabbiness. From one + hour to another the day had grown vernal; even in the bustling streets + there was an odor of earth and blossom. Felix was immensely entertained. + He had called it a comical country, and he went about laughing at + everything he saw. You would have said that American civilization + expressed itself to his sense in a tissue of capital jokes. The jokes were + certainly excellent, and the young man’s merriment was joyous and genial. + He possessed what is called the pictorial sense; and this first glimpse of + democratic manners stirred the same sort of attention that he would have + given to the movements of a lively young person with a bright complexion. + Such attention would have been demonstrative and complimentary; and in the + present case Felix might have passed for an undispirited young exile + revisiting the haunts of his childhood. He kept looking at the violent + blue of the sky, at the scintillating air, at the scattered and multiplied + patches of color. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Comme c’est bariolé</i>, eh?” he said to his sister in that foreign tongue + which they both appeared to feel a mysterious prompting occasionally to + use. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is <i>bariolé</i> indeed,” the Baroness answered. “I don’t like the + coloring; it hurts my eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “It shows how extremes meet,” the young man rejoined. “Instead of coming + to the West we seem to have gone to the East. The way the sky touches the + house-tops is just like Cairo; and the red and blue sign-boards patched + over the face of everything remind one of Mahometan decorations.” + </p> + <p> + “The young women are not Mahometan,” said his companion. “They can’t be + said to hide their faces. I never saw anything so bold.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank Heaven they don’t hide their faces!” cried Felix. “Their faces are + uncommonly pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, their faces are often very pretty,” said the Baroness, who was a + very clever woman. She was too clever a woman not to be capable of a great + deal of just and fine observation. She clung more closely than usual to + her brother’s arm; she was not exhilarated, as he was; she said very + little, but she noted a great many things and made her reflections. She + was a little excited; she felt that she had indeed come to a strange + country, to make her fortune. Superficially, she was conscious of a good + deal of irritation and displeasure; the Baroness was a very delicate and + fastidious person. Of old, more than once, she had gone, for + entertainment’s sake and in brilliant company, to a fair in a provincial + town. It seemed to her now that she was at an enormous fair—that the + entertainment and the <i>désagréments</i> were very much the same. She found + herself alternately smiling and shrinking; the show was very curious, but + it was probable, from moment to moment, that one would be jostled. The + Baroness had never seen so many people walking about before; she had never + been so mixed up with people she did not know. But little by little she + felt that this fair was a more serious undertaking. She went with her + brother into a large public garden, which seemed very pretty, but where + she was surprised at seeing no carriages. The afternoon was drawing to a + close; the coarse, vivid grass and the slender tree-boles were gilded by + the level sunbeams—gilded as with gold that was fresh from the mine. + It was the hour at which ladies should come out for an airing and roll + past a hedge of pedestrians, holding their parasols askance. Here, + however, Eugenia observed no indications of this custom, the absence of + which was more anomalous as there was a charming avenue of remarkably + graceful, arching elms in the most convenient contiguity to a large, + cheerful street, in which, evidently, among the more prosperous members of + the <i>bourgeoisie</i>, a great deal of pedestrianism went forward. Our friends + passed out into this well lighted promenade, and Felix noticed a great + many more pretty girls and called his sister’s attention to them. This + latter measure, however, was superfluous; for the Baroness had inspected, + narrowly, these charming young ladies. + </p> + <p> + “I feel an intimate conviction that our cousins are like that,” said + Felix. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness hoped so, but this is not what she said. “They are very + pretty,” she said, “but they are mere little girls. Where are the women—the + women of thirty?” + </p> + <p> + “Of thirty-three, do you mean?” her brother was going to ask; for he + understood often both what she said and what she did not say. But he only + exclaimed upon the beauty of the sunset, while the Baroness, who had come + to seek her fortune, reflected that it would certainly be well for her if + the persons against whom she might need to measure herself should all be + mere little girls. The sunset was superb; they stopped to look at it; + Felix declared that he had never seen such a gorgeous mixture of colors. + The Baroness also thought it splendid; and she was perhaps the more easily + pleased from the fact that while she stood there she was conscious of much + admiring observation on the part of various nice-looking people who passed + that way, and to whom a distinguished, strikingly-dressed woman with a + foreign air, exclaiming upon the beauties of nature on a Boston street + corner in the French tongue, could not be an object of indifference. + Eugenia’s spirits rose. She surrendered herself to a certain tranquil + gaiety. If she had come to seek her fortune, it seemed to her that her + fortune would be easy to find. There was a promise of it in the gorgeous + purity of the western sky; there was an intimation in the mild, + unimpertinent gaze of the passers of a certain natural facility in things. + </p> + <p> + “You will not go back to Silberstadt, eh?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Not tomorrow,” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Nor write to the Reigning Prince?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall write to him that they evidently know nothing about him over + here.” + </p> + <p> + “He will not believe you,” said the young man. “I advise you to let him + alone.” + </p> + <p> + Felix himself continued to be in high good humor. Brought up among ancient + customs and in picturesque cities, he yet found plenty of local color in + the little Puritan metropolis. That evening, after dinner, he told his + sister that he should go forth early on the morrow to look up their + cousins. + </p> + <p> + “You are very impatient,” said Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “What can be more natural,” he asked, “after seeing all those pretty girls + today? If one’s cousins are of that pattern, the sooner one knows them + the better.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps they are not,” said Eugenia. “We ought to have brought some + letters—to some other people.” + </p> + <p> + “The other people would not be our kinsfolk.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly they would be none the worse for that,” the Baroness replied. + </p> + <p> + Her brother looked at her with his eyebrows lifted. “That was not what you + said when you first proposed to me that we should come out here and + fraternize with our relatives. You said that it was the prompting of + natural affection; and when I suggested some reasons against it you + declared that the <i>voix du sang</i> should go before everything.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember all that?” asked the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Vividly! I was greatly moved by it.” + </p> + <p> + She was walking up and down the room, as she had done in the morning; she + stopped in her walk and looked at her brother. She apparently was going to + say something, but she checked herself and resumed her walk. Then, in a + few moments, she said something different, which had the effect of an + explanation of the suppression of her earlier thought. “You will never be + anything but a child, dear brother.” + </p> + <p> + “One would suppose that you, madam,” answered Felix, laughing, “were a + thousand years old.” + </p> + <p> + “I am—sometimes,” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “I will go, then, and announce to our cousins the arrival of a personage + so extraordinary. They will immediately come and pay you their respects.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia paced the length of the room again, and then she stopped before + her brother, laying her hand upon his arm. “They are not to come and see + me,” she said. “You are not to allow that. That is not the way I shall + meet them first.” And in answer to his interrogative glance she went on. + “You will go and examine, and report. You will come back and tell me who + they are and what they are; their number, gender, their respective ages—all + about them. Be sure you observe everything; be ready to describe to me the + locality, the accessories—how shall I say it?—the <i>mise en + scène</i>. Then, at my own time, at my own hour, under circumstances of my own + choosing, I will go to them. I will present myself—I will appear + before them!” said the Baroness, this time phrasing her idea with a + certain frankness. + </p> + <p> + “And what message am I to take to them?” asked Felix, who had a lively + faith in the justness of his sister’s arrangements. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him a moment—at his expression of agreeable veracity; + and, with that justness that he admired, she replied, “Say what you + please. Tell my story in the way that seems to you most—natural.” + And she bent her forehead for him to kiss. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The next day was splendid, as Felix had prophesied; if the winter had + suddenly leaped into spring, the spring had for the moment as quickly + leaped into summer. This was an observation made by a young girl who came + out of a large square house in the country, and strolled about in the + spacious garden which separated it from a muddy road. The flowering shrubs + and the neatly-disposed plants were basking in the abundant light and + warmth; the transparent shade of the great elms—they were + magnificent trees—seemed to thicken by the hour; and the intensely + habitual stillness offered a submissive medium to the sound of a distant + church-bell. The young girl listened to the church-bell; but she was not + dressed for church. She was bare-headed; she wore a white muslin waist, + with an embroidered border, and the skirt of her dress was of colored + muslin. She was a young lady of some two or three and twenty years of age, + and though a young person of her sex walking bare-headed in a garden, of a + Sunday morning in spring-time, can, in the nature of things, never be a + displeasing object, you would not have pronounced this innocent + Sabbath-breaker especially pretty. She was tall and pale, thin and a + little awkward; her hair was fair and perfectly straight; her eyes were + dark, and they had the singularity of seeming at once dull and restless—differing + herein, as you see, fatally from the ideal “fine eyes,” which we always + imagine to be both brilliant and tranquil. The doors and windows of the + large square house were all wide open, to admit the purifying sunshine, + which lay in generous patches upon the floor of a wide, high, covered + piazza adjusted to two sides of the mansion—a piazza on which + several straw-bottomed rocking-chairs and half a dozen of those small + cylindrical stools in green and blue porcelain, which suggest an + affiliation between the residents and the Eastern trade, were + symmetrically disposed. It was an ancient house—ancient in the sense + of being eighty years old; it was built of wood, painted a clean, clear, + faded gray, and adorned along the front, at intervals, with flat wooden + pilasters, painted white. These pilasters appeared to support a kind of + classic pediment, which was decorated in the middle by a large triple + window in a boldly carved frame, and in each of its smaller angles by a + glazed circular aperture. A large white door, furnished with a + highly-polished brass knocker, presented itself to the rural-looking road, + with which it was connected by a spacious pathway, paved with worn and + cracked, but very clean, bricks. Behind it there were meadows and + orchards, a barn and a pond; and facing it, a short distance along the + road, on the opposite side, stood a smaller house, painted white, with + external shutters painted green, a little garden on one hand and an + orchard on the other. All this was shining in the morning air, through + which the simple details of the picture addressed themselves to the eye as + distinctly as the items of a “sum” in addition. + </p> + <p> + A second young lady presently came out of the house, across the piazza, + descended into the garden and approached the young girl of whom I have + spoken. This second young lady was also thin and pale; but she was older + than the other; she was shorter; she had dark, smooth hair. Her eyes, + unlike the other’s, were quick and bright; but they were not at all + restless. She wore a straw bonnet with white ribbons, and a long, red, + India scarf, which, on the front of her dress, reached to her feet. In her + hand she carried a little key. + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude,” she said, “are you very sure you had better not go to church?” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at her a moment, plucked a small sprig from a lilac-bush, + smelled it and threw it away. “I am not very sure of anything!” she + answered. + </p> + <p> + The other young lady looked straight past her, at the distant pond, which + lay shining between the long banks of fir trees. Then she said in a very + soft voice, “This is the key of the dining-room closet. I think you had + better have it, if anyone should want anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is there to want anything?” Gertrude demanded. “I shall be all alone + in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Someone may come,” said her companion. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean Mr. Brand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Gertrude. He may like a piece of cake.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like men that are always eating cake!” Gertrude declared, giving + a pull at the lilac-bush. + </p> + <p> + Her companion glanced at her, and then looked down on the ground. “I think + father expected you would come to church,” she said. “What shall I say to + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Say I have a bad headache.” + </p> + <p> + “Would that be true?” asked the elder lady, looking straight at the pond + again. + </p> + <p> + “No, Charlotte,” said the younger one simply. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte transferred her quiet eyes to her companion’s face. “I am afraid + you are feeling restless.” + </p> + <p> + “I am feeling as I always feel,” Gertrude replied, in the same tone. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte turned away; but she stood there a moment. Presently she looked + down at the front of her dress. “Doesn’t it seem to you, somehow, as if + my scarf were too long?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude walked half round her, looking at the scarf. “I don’t think you + wear it right,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “How should I wear it, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know; differently from that. You should draw it differently over + your shoulders, round your elbows; you should look differently behind.” + </p> + <p> + “How should I look?” Charlotte inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I can tell you,” said Gertrude, plucking out the scarf a + little behind. “I could do it myself, but I don’t think I can explain it.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte, by a movement of her elbows, corrected the laxity that had come + from her companion’s touch. “Well, some day you must do it for me. It + doesn’t matter now. Indeed, I don’t think it matters,” she added, “how one + looks behind.” + </p> + <p> + “I should say it mattered more,” said Gertrude. “Then you don’t know who + may be observing you. You are not on your guard. You can’t try to look + pretty.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte received this declaration with extreme gravity. “I don’t think + one should ever try to look pretty,” she rejoined, earnestly. + </p> + <p> + Her companion was silent. Then she said, “Well, perhaps it’s not of much + use.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte looked at her a little, and then kissed her. “I hope you will be + better when we come back.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sister, I am very well!” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte went down the large brick walk to the garden gate; her companion + strolled slowly toward the house. At the gate Charlotte met a young man, + who was coming in—a tall, fair young man, wearing a high hat and a + pair of thread gloves. He was handsome, but rather too stout. He had a + pleasant smile. “Oh, Mr. Brand!” exclaimed the young lady. + </p> + <p> + “I came to see whether your sister was not going to church,” said the + young man. + </p> + <p> + “She says she is not going; but I am very glad you have come. I think if + you were to talk to her a little”.... And Charlotte lowered her voice. “It + seems as if she were restless.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand smiled down on the young lady from his great height. “I shall be + very glad to talk to her. For that I should be willing to absent myself + from almost any occasion of worship, however attractive.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose you know,” said Charlotte, softly, as if positive + acceptance of this proposition might be dangerous. “But I am afraid I + shall be late.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will have a pleasant sermon,” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Gilman is always pleasant,” Charlotte answered. And she went on + her way. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand went into the garden, where Gertrude, hearing the gate close + behind him, turned and looked at him. For a moment she watched him coming; + then she turned away. But almost immediately she corrected this movement, + and stood still, facing him. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead as + he approached. Then he put on his hat again and held out his hand. His hat + being removed, you would have perceived that his forehead was very large + and smooth, and his hair abundant but rather colorless. His nose was too + large, and his mouth and eyes were too small; but for all this he was, as + I have said, a young man of striking appearance. The expression of his + little clean-colored blue eyes was irresistibly gentle and serious; he + looked, as the phrase is, as good as gold. The young girl, standing in the + garden path, glanced, as he came up, at his thread gloves. + </p> + <p> + “I hoped you were going to church,” he said. “I wanted to walk with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very much obliged to you,” Gertrude answered. “I am not going to + church.” + </p> + <p> + She had shaken hands with him; he held her hand a moment. “Have you any + special reason for not going?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Brand,” said the young girl. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask what it is?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him smiling; and in her smile, as I have intimated, there + was a certain dullness. But mingled with this dullness was something sweet + and suggestive. “Because the sky is so blue!” she said. + </p> + <p> + He looked at the sky, which was magnificent, and then said, smiling too, + “I have heard of young ladies staying at home for bad weather, but never + for good. Your sister, whom I met at the gate, tells me you are + depressed,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Depressed? I am never depressed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, surely, sometimes,” replied Mr. Brand, as if he thought this a + regrettable account of one’s self. + </p> + <p> + “I am never depressed,” Gertrude repeated. “But I am sometimes wicked. + When I am wicked I am in high spirits. I was wicked just now to my + sister.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do to her?” + </p> + <p> + “I said things that puzzled her—on purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do that, Miss Gertrude?” asked the young man. + </p> + <p> + She began to smile again. “Because the sky is so blue!” + </p> + <p> + “You say things that puzzle <i>me</i>,” Mr. Brand declared. + </p> + <p> + “I always know when I do it,” proceeded Gertrude. “But people puzzle me + more, I think. And they don’t seem to know!” + </p> + <p> + “This is very interesting,” Mr. Brand observed, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You told me to tell you about my—my struggles,” the young girl went + on. + </p> + <p> + “Let us talk about them. I have so many things to say.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude turned away a moment; and then, turning back, “You had better go + to church,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” the young man urged, “that I have always one thing to say.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at him a moment. “Please don’t say it now!” + </p> + <p> + “We are all alone,” he continued, taking off his hat; “all alone in this + beautiful Sunday stillness.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked around her, at the breaking buds, the shining distance, + the blue sky to which she had referred as a pretext for her + irregularities. “That’s the reason,” she said, “why I don’t want you to + speak. Do me a favor; go to church.” + </p> + <p> + “May I speak when I come back?” asked Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “If you are still disposed,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know whether you are wicked,” he said, “but you are certainly + puzzling.” + </p> + <p> + She had turned away; she raised her hands to her ears. He looked at her a + moment, and then he slowly walked to church. + </p> + <p> + She wandered for a while about the garden, vaguely and without purpose. + The church-bell had stopped ringing; the stillness was complete. This + young lady relished highly, on occasions, the sense of being alone—the + absence of the whole family and the emptiness of the house. Today, + apparently, the servants had also gone to church; there was never a figure + at the open windows; behind the house there was no stout negress in a red + turban, lowering the bucket into the great shingle-hooded well. And the + front door of the big, unguarded home stood open, with the trustfulness of + the golden age; or what is more to the purpose, with that of New England’s + silvery prime. Gertrude slowly passed through it, and went from one of the + empty rooms to the other—large, clear-colored rooms, with white + wainscots, ornamented with thin-legged mahogany furniture, and, on the + walls, with old-fashioned engravings, chiefly of scriptural subjects, hung + very high. This agreeable sense of solitude, of having the house to + herself, of which I have spoken, always excited Gertrude’s imagination; + she could not have told you why, and neither can her humble historian. It + always seemed to her that she must do something particular—that she + must honor the occasion; and while she roamed about, wondering what she + could do, the occasion usually came to an end. Today she wondered more + than ever. At last she took down a book; there was no library in the + house, but there were books in all the rooms. None of them were forbidden + books, and Gertrude had not stopped at home for the sake of a chance to + climb to the inaccessible shelves. She possessed herself of a very obvious + volume—one of the series of the <i>Arabian Nights</i>—and she brought + it out into the portico and sat down with it in her lap. There, for a + quarter of an hour, she read the history of the loves of the Prince + Camaralzaman and the Princess Badoura. At last, looking up, she beheld, as + it seemed to her, the Prince Camaralzaman standing before her. A beautiful + young man was making her a very low bow—a magnificent bow, such as + she had never seen before. He appeared to have dropped from the clouds; he + was wonderfully handsome; he smiled—smiled as if he were smiling on + purpose. Extreme surprise, for a moment, kept Gertrude sitting still; then + she rose, without even keeping her finger in her book. The young man, with + his hat in his hand, still looked at her, smiling and smiling. It was very + strange. + </p> + <p> + “Will you kindly tell me,” said the mysterious visitor, at last, “whether + I have the honor of speaking to Miss Wentworth?” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Gertrude Wentworth,” murmured the young woman. + </p> + <p> + “Then—then—I have the honor—the pleasure—of being + your cousin.” + </p> + <p> + The young man had so much the character of an apparition that this + announcement seemed to complete his unreality. “What cousin? Who are you?” + said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + He stepped back a few paces and looked up at the house; then glanced round + him at the garden and the distant view. After this he burst out laughing. + “I see it must seem to you very strange,” he said. There was, after all, + something substantial in his laughter. Gertrude looked at him from head to + foot. Yes, he was remarkably handsome; but his smile was almost a grimace. + “It is very still,” he went on, coming nearer again. And as she only + looked at him, for reply, he added, “Are you all alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Everyone has gone to church,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid of that!” the young man exclaimed. “But I hope you are not + afraid of me.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to tell me who you are,” Gertrude answered. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid of you!” said the young man. “I had a different plan. I + expected the servant would take in my card, and that you would put your + heads together, before admitting me, and make out my identity.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had been wondering with a quick intensity which brought its + result; and the result seemed an answer—a wondrous, delightful + answer—to her vague wish that something would befall her. “I know—I + know,” she said. “You come from Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “We came two days ago. You have heard of us, then—you believe in + us?” + </p> + <p> + “We have known, vaguely,” said Gertrude, “that we had relations in + France.” + </p> + <p> + “And have you ever wanted to see us?” asked the young man. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude was silent a moment. “I have wanted to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad, then, it is you I have found. We wanted to see you, so we + came.” + </p> + <p> + “On purpose?” asked Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + The young man looked round him, smiling still. “Well, yes; on purpose. + Does that sound as if we should bore you?” he added. “I don’t think we + shall—I really don’t think we shall. We are rather fond of + wandering, too; and we were glad of a pretext.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have just arrived?” + </p> + <p> + “In Boston, two days ago. At the inn I asked for Mr. Wentworth. He must be + your father. They found out for me where he lived; they seemed often to + have heard of him. I determined to come, without ceremony. So, this lovely + morning, they set my face in the right direction, and told me to walk + straight before me, out of town. I came on foot because I wanted to see + the country. I walked and walked, and here I am! It’s a good many miles.” + </p> + <p> + “It is seven miles and a half,” said Gertrude, softly. Now that this + handsome young man was proving himself a reality she found herself vaguely + trembling; she was deeply excited. She had never in her life spoken to a + foreigner, and she had often thought it would be delightful to do so. Here + was one who had suddenly been engendered by the Sabbath stillness for her + private use; and such a brilliant, polite, smiling one! She found time and + means to compose herself, however: to remind herself that she must + exercise a sort of official hospitality. “We are very—very glad to + see you,” she said. “Won’t you come into the house?” And she moved toward + the open door. + </p> + <p> + “You are not afraid of me, then?” asked the young man again, with his + light laugh. + </p> + <p> + She wondered a moment, and then, “We are not afraid—here,” she said. + </p> + <p> + <i>“Ah, comme vous devez avoir raison!”</i> cried the young man, looking all + round him, appreciatively. It was the first time that Gertrude had heard + so many words of French spoken. They gave her something of a sensation. + Her companion followed her, watching, with a certain excitement of his + own, this tall, interesting-looking girl, dressed in her clear, crisp + muslin. He paused in the hall, where there was a broad white staircase + with a white balustrade. “What a pleasant house!” he said. “It’s lighter + inside than it is out.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s pleasanter here,” said Gertrude, and she led the way into the + parlor,—a high, clean, rather empty-looking room. Here they stood + looking at each other,—the young man smiling more than ever; + Gertrude, very serious, trying to smile. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe you know my name,” he said. “I am called Felix Young. + Your father is my uncle. My mother was his half sister, and older than + he.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Gertrude, “and she turned Roman Catholic and married in + Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “I see you know,” said the young man. “She married and she died. Your + father’s family didn’t like her husband. They called him a foreigner; but + he was not. My poor father was born in Sicily, but his parents were + American.” + </p> + <p> + “In Sicily?” Gertrude murmured. + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” said Felix Young, “that they had spent their lives in + Europe. But they were very patriotic. And so are we.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are Sicilian,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Sicilian, no! Let’s see. I was born at a little place—a dear + little place—in France. My sister was born at Vienna.” + </p> + <p> + “So you are French,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid!” cried the young man. Gertrude’s eyes were fixed upon him + almost insistently. He began to laugh again. “I can easily be French, if + that will please you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a foreigner of some sort,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Of some sort—yes; I suppose so. But who can say of what sort? I + don’t think we have ever had occasion to settle the question. You know + there are people like that. About their country, their religion, their + profession, they can’t tell.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude stood there gazing; she had not asked him to sit down. She had + never heard of people like that; she wanted to hear. “Where do you live?” + she asked. + </p> + <p> + “They can’t tell that, either!” said Felix. “I am afraid you will think + they are little better than vagabonds. I have lived anywhere—everywhere. + I really think I have lived in every city in Europe.” Gertrude gave a + little long soft exhalation. It made the young man smile at her again; and + his smile made her blush a little. To take refuge from blushing she asked + him if, after his long walk, he was not hungry or thirsty. Her hand was in + her pocket; she was fumbling with the little key that her sister had given + her. “Ah, my dear young lady,” he said, clasping his hands a little, “if + you could give me, in charity, a glass of wine!” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude gave a smile and a little nod, and went quickly out of the room. + Presently she came back with a very large decanter in one hand and a plate + in the other, on which was placed a big, round cake with a frosted top. + Gertrude, in taking the cake from the closet, had had a moment of acute + consciousness that it composed the refection of which her sister had + thought that Mr. Brand would like to partake. Her kinsman from across the + seas was looking at the pale, high-hung engravings. When she came in he + turned and smiled at her, as if they had been old friends meeting after a + separation. “You wait upon me yourself?” he asked. “I am served like the + gods!” She had waited upon a great many people, but none of them had ever + told her that. The observation added a certain lightness to the step with + which she went to a little table where there were some curious red glasses—glasses + covered with little gold sprigs, which Charlotte used to dust every + morning with her own hands. Gertrude thought the glasses very handsome, + and it was a pleasure to her to know that the wine was good; it was her + father’s famous madeira. Felix Young thought it excellent; he wondered why + he had been told that there was no wine in America. She cut him an immense + triangle out of the cake, and again she thought of Mr. Brand. Felix sat + there, with his glass in one hand and his huge morsel of cake in the other—eating, + drinking, smiling, talking. “I am very hungry,” he said. “I am not at all + tired; I am never tired. But I am very hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “You must stay to dinner,” said Gertrude. “At two o’clock. They will all + have come back from church; you will see the others.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are the others?” asked the young man. “Describe them all.” + </p> + <p> + “You will see for yourself. It is you that must tell me; now, about your + sister.” + </p> + <p> + “My sister is the Baroness Münster,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + On hearing that his sister was a Baroness, Gertrude got up and walked + about slowly, in front of him. She was silent a moment. She was thinking + of it. “Why didn’t she come, too?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “She did come; she is in Boston, at the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “We will go and see her,” said Gertrude, looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “She begs you will not!” the young man replied. “She sends you her love; + she sent me to announce her. She will come and pay her respects to your + father.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude felt herself trembling again. A Baroness Münster, who sent a + brilliant young man to “announce” her; who was coming, as the Queen of + Sheba came to Solomon, to pay her “respects” to quiet Mr. Wentworth—such + a personage presented herself to Gertrude’s vision with a most effective + unexpectedness. For a moment she hardly knew what to say. “When will she + come?” she asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as you will allow her—tomorrow. She is very impatient,” + answered Felix, who wished to be agreeable. + </p> + <p> + “Tomorrow, yes,” said Gertrude. She wished to ask more about her; but she + hardly knew what could be predicated of a Baroness Münster. “Is she—is + she—married?” + </p> + <p> + Felix had finished his cake and wine; he got up, fixing upon the young + girl his bright, expressive eyes. “She is married to a German prince—Prince + Adolf, of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. He is not the reigning prince; he is + a younger brother.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude gazed at her informant; her lips were slightly parted. “Is she a—a + <i>Princess</i>?” she asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said the young man; “her position is rather a singular one. + It’s a morganatic marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Morganatic?” These were new names and new words to poor Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what they call a marriage, you know, contracted between a scion + of a ruling house and—and a common mortal. They made Eugenia a + Baroness, poor woman; but that was all they could do. Now they want to + dissolve the marriage. Prince Adolf, between ourselves, is a ninny; but + his brother, who is a clever man, has plans for him. Eugenia, naturally + enough, makes difficulties; not, however, that I think she cares + much—she’s a very clever woman; I’m sure you’ll like + her—but she wants to bother them. Just now everything is <i>en l’air</i>.” + </p> + <p> + The cheerful, off-hand tone in which her visitor related this darkly + romantic tale seemed to Gertrude very strange; but it seemed also to + convey a certain flattery to herself, a recognition of her wisdom and + dignity. She felt a dozen impressions stirring within her, and presently + the one that was uppermost found words. “They want to dissolve her + marriage?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “So it appears.” + </p> + <p> + “And against her will?” + </p> + <p> + “Against her right.” + </p> + <p> + “She must be very unhappy!” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + Her visitor looked at her, smiling; he raised his hand to the back of his + head and held it there a moment. “So she says,” he answered. “That’s her + story. She told me to tell it you.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me more,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “No, I will leave that to her; she does it better.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude gave her little excited sigh again. “Well, if she is unhappy,” + she said, “I am glad she has come to us.” + </p> + <p> + She had been so interested that she failed to notice the sound of a + footstep in the portico; and yet it was a footstep that she always + recognized. She heard it in the hall, and then she looked out of the + window. They were all coming back from church—her father, her sister + and brother, and their cousins, who always came to dinner on Sunday. Mr. + Brand had come in first; he was in advance of the others, because, + apparently, he was still disposed to say what she had not wished him to + say an hour before. He came into the parlor, looking for Gertrude. He had + two little books in his hand. On seeing Gertrude’s companion he slowly + stopped, looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “Is this a cousin?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + Then Gertrude saw that she must introduce him; but her ears, and, by + sympathy, her lips, were full of all that he had been telling her. “This + is the Prince,” she said, “the Prince of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein!” + </p> + <p> + Felix burst out laughing, and Mr. Brand stood staring, while the others, + who had passed into the house, appeared behind him in the open doorway. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + That evening at dinner Felix Young gave his sister, the Baroness Münster, + an account of his impressions. She saw that he had come back in the + highest possible spirits; but this fact, to her own mind, was not a reason + for rejoicing. She had but a limited confidence in her brother’s judgment; + his capacity for taking rose-colored views was such as to vulgarize one of + the prettiest of tints. Still, she supposed he could be trusted to give + her the mere facts; and she invited him with some eagerness to communicate + them. “I suppose, at least, they didn’t turn you out from the door;” she + said. “You have been away some ten hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Turn me from the door!” Felix exclaimed. “They took me to their hearts; + they killed the fatted calf.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you want to say: they are a collection of angels.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Felix. “They are a collection of angels—simply.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>C’est bien vague</i>,” remarked the Baroness. “What are they like?” + </p> + <p> + “Like nothing you ever saw.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I am much obliged; but that is hardly more definite. Seriously, + they were glad to see you?” + </p> + <p> + “Enchanted. It has been the proudest day of my life. Never, never have I + been so lionized! I assure you, I was cock of the walk. My dear sister,” + said the young man, “<i>nous n’avons qu’à nous tenir</i>; we shall be great + swells!” + </p> + <p> + Madame Münster looked at him, and her eye exhibited a slight responsive + spark. She touched her lips to a glass of wine, and then she said, + “Describe them. Give me a picture.” + </p> + <p> + Felix drained his own glass. “Well, it’s in the country, among the + meadows and woods; a wild sort of place, and yet not far from here. Only, + such a road, my dear! Imagine one of the Alpine glaciers reproduced in + mud. But you will not spend much time on it, for they want you to come and + stay, once for all.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the Baroness, “they want me to come and stay, once for all? + <i>Bon</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s intensely rural, tremendously natural; and all overhung with this + strange white light, this far-away blue sky. There’s a big wooden house—a + kind of three-story bungalow; it looks like a magnified Nuremberg toy. + There was a gentleman there that made a speech to me about it and called + it a ‘venerable mansion;’ but it looks as if it had been built last + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it handsome—is it elegant?” asked the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. “It’s very clean! No splendors, no + gilding, no troops of servants; rather straight-backed chairs. But you + might eat off the floors, and you can sit down on the stairs.” + </p> + <p> + “That must be a privilege. And the inhabitants are straight-backed too, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sister,” said Felix, “the inhabitants are charming.” + </p> + <p> + “In what style?” + </p> + <p> + “In a style of their own. How shall I describe it? It’s primitive; it’s + patriarchal; it’s the <i>ton</i> of the golden age.” + </p> + <p> + “And have they nothing golden but their <i>ton</i>? Are there no symptoms of + wealth?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say there was wealth without symptoms. A plain, homely way of + life: nothing for show, and very little for—what shall I call it?—for + the senses; but a great <i>aisance</i>, and a lot of money, out of sight, that + comes forward very quietly for subscriptions to institutions, for + repairing tenements, for paying doctor’s bills; perhaps even for + portioning daughters.” + </p> + <p> + “And the daughters?” Madame Münster demanded. “How many are there?” + </p> + <p> + “There are two, Charlotte and Gertrude.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “One of them,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Which is that?” + </p> + <p> + The young man was silent, looking at his sister. “Charlotte,” he said at + last. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him in return. “I see. You are in love with Gertrude. They + must be Puritans to their finger-tips; anything but gay!” + </p> + <p> + “No, they are not gay,” Felix admitted. “They are sober; they are even + severe. They are of a pensive cast; they take things hard. I think there + is something the matter with them; they have some melancholy memory or + some depressing expectation. It’s not the epicurean temperament. My + uncle, Mr. Wentworth, is a tremendously high-toned old fellow; he looks as + if he were undergoing martyrdom, not by fire, but by freezing. But we + shall cheer them up; we shall do them good. They will take a good deal of + stirring up; but they are wonderfully kind and gentle. And they are + appreciative. They think one clever; they think one remarkable!” + </p> + <p> + “That is very fine, so far as it goes,” said the Baroness. “But are we to + be shut up to these three people, Mr. Wentworth and the two young women—what + did you say their names were—Deborah and Hephzibah?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; there is another little girl, a cousin of theirs, a very pretty + creature; a thorough little American. And then there is the son of the + house.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said the Baroness. “We are coming to the gentlemen. What of the + son of the house?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid he gets tipsy.” + </p> + <p> + “He, then, has the epicurean temperament! How old is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a boy of twenty; a pretty young fellow, but I am afraid he has + vulgar tastes. And then there is Mr. Brand—a very tall young man, a + sort of lay-priest. They seem to think a good deal of him, but I don’t + exactly make him out.” + </p> + <p> + “And is there nothing,” asked the Baroness, “between these extremes—this + mysterious ecclesiastic and that intemperate youth?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, there is Mr. Acton. I think,” said the young man, with a nod at + his sister, “that you will like Mr. Acton.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember that I am very fastidious,” said the Baroness. “Has he very good + manners?” + </p> + <p> + “He will have them with you. He is a man of the world; he has been to + China.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Münster gave a little laugh. “A man of the Chinese world! He must + be very interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “I have an idea that he brought home a fortune,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “That is always interesting. Is he young, good-looking, clever?” + </p> + <p> + “He is less than forty; he has a baldish head; he says witty things. I + rather think,” added the young man, “that he will admire the Baroness + Münster.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very possible,” said this lady. Her brother never knew how she + would take things; but shortly afterwards she declared that he had made a + very pretty description and that on the morrow she would go and see for + herself. + </p> + <p> + They mounted, accordingly, into a great barouche—a vehicle as to + which the Baroness found nothing to criticise but the price that was asked + for it and the fact that the coachman wore a straw hat. (At Silberstadt + Madame Münster had had liveries of yellow and crimson.) They drove into + the country, and the Baroness, leaning far back and swaying her + lace-fringed parasol, looked to right and to left and surveyed the + way-side objects. After a while she pronounced them <i>affreux</i>. Her brother + remarked that it was apparently a country in which the foreground was + inferior to the <i>plans reculés</i>; and the Baroness rejoined that the + landscape seemed to be all foreground. Felix had fixed with his new + friends the hour at which he should bring his sister; it was four o’clock + in the afternoon. The large, clean-faced house wore, to his eyes, as the + barouche drove up to it, a very friendly aspect; the high, slender elms + made lengthening shadows in front of it. The Baroness descended; her + American kinsfolk were stationed in the portico. Felix waved his hat to + them, and a tall, lean gentleman, with a high forehead and a clean shaven + face, came forward toward the garden gate. Charlotte Wentworth walked at + his side. Gertrude came behind, more slowly. Both of these young ladies + wore rustling silk dresses. Felix ushered his sister into the gate. “Be + very gracious,” he said to her. But he saw the admonition was superfluous. + Eugenia was prepared to be gracious as only Eugenia could be. Felix knew + no keener pleasure than to be able to admire his sister unrestrictedly; + for if the opportunity was frequent, it was not inveterate. When she + desired to please she was to him, as to everyone else, the most charming + woman in the world. Then he forgot that she was ever anything else; that + she was sometimes hard and perverse; that he was occasionally afraid of + her. Now, as she took his arm to pass into the garden, he felt that she + desired, that she proposed, to please, and this situation made him very + happy. Eugenia would please. + </p> + <p> + The tall gentleman came to meet her, looking very rigid and grave. But it + was a rigidity that had no illiberal meaning. Mr. Wentworth’s manner was + pregnant, on the contrary, with a sense of grand responsibility, of the + solemnity of the occasion, of its being difficult to show sufficient + deference to a lady at once so distinguished and so unhappy. Felix had + observed on the day before his characteristic pallor; and now he perceived + that there was something almost cadaverous in his uncle’s high-featured + white face. But so clever were this young man’s quick sympathies and + perceptions that he already learned that in these semi-mortuary + manifestations there was no cause for alarm. His light imagination had + gained a glimpse of Mr. Wentworth’s spiritual mechanism, and taught him + that, the old man being infinitely conscientious, the special operation of + conscience within him announced itself by several of the indications of + physical faintness. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness took her uncle’s hand, and stood looking at him with her ugly + face and her beautiful smile. “Have I done right to come?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Very right, very right,” said Mr. Wentworth, solemnly. He had arranged in + his mind a little speech; but now it quite faded away. He felt almost + frightened. He had never been looked at in just that way—with just + that fixed, intense smile—by any woman; and it perplexed and weighed + upon him, now, that the woman who was smiling so and who had instantly + given him a vivid sense of her possessing other unprecedented attributes, + was his own niece, the child of his own father’s daughter. The idea that + his niece should be a German Baroness, married “morganatically” to a + Prince, had already given him much to think about. Was it right, was it + just, was it acceptable? He always slept badly, and the night before he + had lain awake much more even than usual, asking himself these questions. + The strange word “morganatic” was constantly in his ears; it reminded him + of a certain Mrs. Morgan whom he had once known and who had been a bold, + unpleasant woman. He had a feeling that it was his duty, so long as the + Baroness looked at him, smiling in that way, to meet her glance with his + own scrupulously adjusted, consciously frigid organs of vision; but on + this occasion he failed to perform his duty to the last. He looked away + toward his daughters. “We are very glad to see you,” he had said. “Allow + me to introduce my daughters—Miss Charlotte Wentworth, Miss Gertrude + Wentworth.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness thought she had never seen people less demonstrative. But + Charlotte kissed her and took her hand, looking at her sweetly and + solemnly. Gertrude seemed to her almost funereal, though Gertrude might + have found a source of gaiety in the fact that Felix, with his magnificent + smile, had been talking to her; he had greeted her as a very old friend. + When she kissed the Baroness she had tears in her eyes. Madame Münster + took each of these young women by the hand, and looked at them all over. + Charlotte thought her very strange-looking and singularly dressed; she + could not have said whether it was well or ill. She was glad, at any rate, + that they had put on their silk gowns—especially Gertrude. “My + cousins are very pretty,” said the Baroness, turning her eyes from one to + the other. “Your daughters are very handsome, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte blushed quickly; she had never yet heard her personal appearance + alluded to in a loud, expressive voice. Gertrude looked away—not at + Felix; she was extremely pleased. It was not the compliment that pleased + her; she did not believe it; she thought herself very plain. She could + hardly have told you the source of her satisfaction; it came from + something in the way the Baroness spoke, and it was not diminished—it + was rather deepened, oddly enough—by the young girl’s disbelief. Mr. + Wentworth was silent; and then he asked, formally, “Won’t you come into + the house?” + </p> + <p> + “These are not all; you have some other children,” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “I have a son,” Mr. Wentworth answered. + </p> + <p> + “And why doesn’t he come to meet me?” Eugenia cried. “I am afraid he is + not so charming as his sisters.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know; I will see about it,” the old man declared. + </p> + <p> + “He is rather afraid of ladies,” Charlotte said, softly. + </p> + <p> + “He is very handsome,” said Gertrude, as loud as she could. + </p> + <p> + “We will go in and find him. We will draw him out of his <i>cachette</i>.” And + the Baroness took Mr. Wentworth’s arm, who was not aware that he had + offered it to her, and who, as they walked toward the house, wondered + whether he ought to have offered it and whether it was proper for her to + take it if it had not been offered. “I want to know you well,” said the + Baroness, interrupting these meditations, “and I want you to know me.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems natural that we should know each other,” Mr. Wentworth rejoined. + “We are near relatives.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there comes a moment in life when one reverts, irresistibly, to one’s + natural ties—to one’s natural affections. You must have found that!” + said Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth had been told the day before by Felix that Eugenia was very + clever, very brilliant, and the information had held him in some suspense. + This was the cleverness, he supposed; the brilliancy was beginning. “Yes, + the natural affections are very strong,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “In some people,” the Baroness declared. “Not in all.” Charlotte was + walking beside her; she took hold of her hand again, smiling always. “And + you, <i>cousine</i>, where did you get that enchanting complexion?” she went on; + “such lilies and roses?” The roses in poor Charlotte’s countenance began + speedily to predominate over the lilies, and she quickened her step and + reached the portico. “This is the country of complexions,” the Baroness + continued, addressing herself to Mr. Wentworth. “I am convinced they are + more delicate. There are very good ones in England—in Holland; but + they are very apt to be coarse. There is too much red.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you will find,” said Mr. Wentworth, “that this country is + superior in many respects to those you mention. I have been to England and + Holland.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have been to Europe?” cried the Baroness. “Why didn’t you come + and see me? But it’s better, after all, this way,” she said. They were + entering the house; she paused and looked round her. “I see you have + arranged your house—your beautiful house—in the—in the + Dutch taste!” + </p> + <p> + “The house is very old,” remarked Mr. Wentworth. “General Washington once + spent a week here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I have heard of Washington,” cried the Baroness. “My father used to + tell me of him.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth was silent a moment, and then, “I found he was very well + known in Europe,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Felix had lingered in the garden with Gertrude; he was standing before her + and smiling, as he had done the day before. What had happened the day + before seemed to her a kind of dream. He had been there and he had changed + everything; the others had seen him, they had talked with him; but that he + should come again, that he should be part of the future, part of her + small, familiar, much-meditating life—this needed, afresh, the + evidence of her senses. The evidence had come to her senses now; and her + senses seemed to rejoice in it. “What do you think of Eugenia?” Felix + asked. “Isn’t she charming?” + </p> + <p> + “She is very brilliant,” said Gertrude. “But I can’t tell yet. She seems + to me like a singer singing an air. You can’t tell till the song is done.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the song will never be done!” exclaimed the young man, laughing. + “Don’t you think her handsome?” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had been disappointed in the beauty of the Baroness Münster; she + had expected her, for mysterious reasons, to resemble a very pretty + portrait of the Empress Josephine, of which there hung an engraving in one + of the parlors, and which the younger Miss Wentworth had always greatly + admired. But the Baroness was not at all like that—not at all. + Though different, however, she was very wonderful, and Gertrude felt + herself most suggestively corrected. It was strange, nevertheless, that + Felix should speak in that positive way about his sister’s beauty. “I + think I <i>shall</i> think her handsome,” Gertrude said. “It must be very + interesting to know her. I don’t feel as if I ever could.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you will know her well; you will become great friends,” Felix + declared, as if this were the easiest thing in the world. + </p> + <p> + “She is very graceful,” said Gertrude, looking after the Baroness, + suspended to her father’s arm. It was a pleasure to her to say that + anyone was graceful. + </p> + <p> + Felix had been looking about him. “And your little cousin, of yesterday,” + he said, “who was so wonderfully pretty—what has become of her?” + </p> + <p> + “She is in the parlor,” Gertrude answered. “Yes, she is very pretty.” She + felt as if it were her duty to take him straight into the house, to where + he might be near her cousin. But after hesitating a moment she lingered + still. “I didn’t believe you would come back,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Not come back!” cried Felix, laughing. “You didn’t know, then, the + impression made upon this susceptible heart of mine.” + </p> + <p> + She wondered whether he meant the impression her cousin Lizzie had made. + “Well,” she said, “I didn’t think we should ever see you again.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray what did you think would become of me?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I thought you would melt away.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a compliment to my solidity! I melt very often,” said Felix, “but + there is always something left of me.” + </p> + <p> + “I came and waited for you by the door, because the others did,” Gertrude + went on. “But if you had never appeared I should not have been surprised.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” declared Felix, looking at her, “that you would have been + disappointed.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him a little, and shook her head. “No—no!” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Ah, par exemple!”</i> cried the young man. “You deserve that I should never + leave you.” + </p> + <p> + Going into the parlor they found Mr. Wentworth performing introductions. A + young man was standing before the Baroness, blushing a good deal, laughing + a little, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other—a slim, + mild-faced young man, with neatly-arranged features, like those of Mr. + Wentworth. Two other gentlemen, behind him, had risen from their seats, + and a little apart, near one of the windows, stood a remarkably pretty + young girl. The young girl was knitting a stocking; but, while her fingers + quickly moved, she looked with wide, brilliant eyes at the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “And what is your son’s name?” said Eugenia, smiling at the young man. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Clifford Wentworth, ma’am,” he said in a tremulous voice. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you come out to meet me, Mr. Clifford Wentworth?” the + Baroness demanded, with her beautiful smile. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t think you would want me,” said the young man, slowly sidling + about. + </p> + <p> + “One always wants a <i>beau cousin</i>,—if one has one! But if you are very + nice to me in future I won’t remember it against you.” And Madame Münster transferred her smile to the other persons present. It rested + first upon the candid countenance and long-skirted figure of Mr. Brand, + whose eyes were intently fixed upon Mr. Wentworth, as if to beg him not to + prolong an anomalous situation. Mr. Wentworth pronounced his name. Eugenia + gave him a very charming glance, and then looked at the other gentleman. + </p> + <p> + This latter personage was a man of rather less than the usual stature and + the usual weight, with a quick, observant, agreeable dark eye, a small + quantity of thin dark hair, and a small moustache. He had been standing + with his hands in his pockets; and when Eugenia looked at him he took them + out. But he did not, like Mr. Brand, look evasively and urgently at their + host. He met Eugenia’s eyes; he appeared to appreciate the privilege of + meeting them. Madame Münster instantly felt that he was, intrinsically, + the most important person present. She was not unconscious that this + impression was in some degree manifested in the little sympathetic nod + with which she acknowledged Mr. Wentworth’s announcement, “My cousin, Mr. + Acton!” + </p> + <p> + “Your cousin—not mine?” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “It only depends upon you,” Mr. Acton declared, laughing. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness looked at him a moment, and noticed that he had very white + teeth. “Let it depend upon your behavior,” she said. “I think I had better + wait. I have cousins enough. Unless I can also claim relationship,” she + added, “with that charming young lady,” and she pointed to the young girl + at the window. + </p> + <p> + “That’s my sister,” said Mr. Acton. And Gertrude Wentworth put her arm + round the young girl and led her forward. It was not, apparently, that she + needed much leading. She came toward the Baroness with a light, quick + step, and with perfect self-possession, rolling her stocking round its + needles. She had dark blue eyes and dark brown hair; she was wonderfully + pretty. + </p> + <p> + Eugenia kissed her, as she had kissed the other young women, and then held + her off a little, looking at her. “Now this is quite another <i>type</i>,” she + said; she pronounced the word in the French manner. “This is a different + outline, my uncle, a different character, from that of your own daughters. + This, Felix,” she went on, “is very much more what we have always thought + of as the American type.” + </p> + <p> + The young girl, during this exposition, was smiling askance at everyone + in turn, and at Felix out of turn. “I find only one type here!” cried + Felix, laughing. “The type adorable!” + </p> + <p> + This sally was received in perfect silence, but Felix, who learned all + things quickly, had already learned that the silences frequently observed + among his new acquaintances were not necessarily restrictive or resentful. + It was, as one might say, the silence of expectation, of modesty. They + were all standing round his sister, as if they were expecting her to + acquit herself of the exhibition of some peculiar faculty, some brilliant + talent. Their attitude seemed to imply that she was a kind of + conversational mountebank, attired, intellectually, in gauze and spangles. + This attitude gave a certain ironical force to Madame Münster’s next + words. “Now this is your circle,” she said to her uncle. “This is your + <i>salon</i>. These are your regular <i>habitués</i>, eh? I am so glad to see you + all together.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Mr. Wentworth, “they are always dropping in and out. You must + do the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” interposed Charlotte Wentworth, “they must do something more.” + And she turned her sweet, serious face, that seemed at once timid and + placid, upon their interesting visitor. “What is your name?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Eugenia-Camilla-Dolores,” said the Baroness, smiling. “But you needn’t + say all that.” + </p> + <p> + “I will say Eugenia, if you will let me. You must come and stay with us.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness laid her hand upon Charlotte’s arm very tenderly; but she + reserved herself. She was wondering whether it would be possible to “stay” + with these people. “It would be very charming—very charming,” she + said; and her eyes wandered over the company, over the room. She wished to + gain time before committing herself. Her glance fell upon young Mr. Brand, + who stood there, with his arms folded and his hand on his chin, looking at + her. “The gentleman, I suppose, is a sort of ecclesiastic,” she said to + Mr. Wentworth, lowering her voice a little. + </p> + <p> + “He is a minister,” answered Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “A Protestant?” asked Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “I am a Unitarian, madam,” replied Mr. Brand, impressively. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I see,” said Eugenia. “Something new.” She had never heard of this + form of worship. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Acton began to laugh, and Gertrude looked anxiously at Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “You have come very far,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “Very far—very far,” the Baroness replied, with a graceful shake of + her head—a shake that might have meant many different things. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a reason why you ought to settle down with us,” said Mr. + Wentworth, with that dryness of utterance which, as Eugenia was too + intelligent not to feel, took nothing from the delicacy of his meaning. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him, and for an instant, in his cold, still face, she seemed + to see a far-away likeness to the vaguely remembered image of her mother. + Eugenia was a woman of sudden emotions, and now, unexpectedly, she felt + one rising in her heart. She kept looking round the circle; she knew that + there was admiration in all the eyes that were fixed upon her. She smiled + at them all. + </p> + <p> + “I came to look—to try—to ask,” she said. “It seems to me I + have done well. I am very tired; I want to rest.” There were tears in her + eyes. The luminous interior, the gentle, tranquil people, the simple, + serious life—the sense of these things pressed upon her with an + overmastering force, and she felt herself yielding to one of the most + genuine emotions she had ever known. “I should like to stay here,” she + said. “Pray take me in.” + </p> + <p> + Though she was smiling, there were tears in her voice as well as in her + eyes. “My dear niece,” said Mr. Wentworth, softly. And Charlotte put out + her arms and drew the Baroness toward her; while Robert Acton turned away, + with his hands stealing into his pockets. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + A few days after the Baroness Münster had presented herself to her + American kinsfolk she came, with her brother, and took up her abode in + that small white house adjacent to Mr. Wentworth’s own dwelling of which + mention has already been made. It was on going with his daughters to + return her visit that Mr. Wentworth placed this comfortable cottage at her + service; the offer being the result of a domestic colloquy, diffused + through the ensuing twenty-four hours, in the course of which the two + foreign visitors were discussed and analyzed with a great deal of + earnestness and subtlety. The discussion went forward, as I say, in the + family circle; but that circle on the evening following Madame Münster’s + return to town, as on many other occasions, included Robert + Acton and his pretty sister. If you had been present, it would probably + not have seemed to you that the advent of these brilliant strangers was + treated as an exhilarating occurrence, a pleasure the more in this + tranquil household, a prospective source of entertainment. This was not + Mr. Wentworth’s way of treating any human occurrence. The sudden irruption + into the well-ordered consciousness of the Wentworths of an element not + allowed for in its scheme of usual obligations required a readjustment of + that sense of responsibility which constituted its principal furniture. To + consider an event, crudely and baldly, in the light of the pleasure it + might bring them was an intellectual exercise with which Felix Young’s + American cousins were almost wholly unacquainted, and which they scarcely + supposed to be largely pursued in any section of human society. The + arrival of Felix and his sister was a satisfaction, but it was a + singularly joyless and inelastic satisfaction. It was an extension of + duty, of the exercise of the more recondite virtues; but neither Mr. + Wentworth, nor Charlotte, nor Mr. Brand, who, among these excellent + people, was a great promoter of reflection and aspiration, frankly + adverted to it as an extension of enjoyment. This function was ultimately + assumed by Gertrude Wentworth, who was a peculiar girl, but the full + compass of whose peculiarities had not been exhibited before they very + ingeniously found their pretext in the presence of these possibly too + agreeable foreigners. Gertrude, however, had to struggle with a great + accumulation of obstructions, both of the subjective, as the + metaphysicians say, and of the objective, order; and indeed it is no small + part of the purpose of this little history to set forth her struggle. What + seemed paramount in this abrupt enlargement of Mr. Wentworth’s sympathies + and those of his daughters was an extension of the field of possible + mistakes; and the doctrine, as it may almost be called, of the oppressive + gravity of mistakes was one of the most cherished traditions of the + Wentworth family. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe she wants to come and stay in this house,” said Gertrude; + Madame Münster, from this time forward, receiving no other designation + than the personal pronoun. Charlotte and Gertrude acquired considerable + facility in addressing her, directly, as “Eugenia;” but in speaking of her + to each other they rarely called her anything but “she.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t she think it good enough for her?” cried little Lizzie Acton, + who was always asking unpractical questions that required, in strictness, + no answer, and to which indeed she expected no other answer than such as + she herself invariably furnished in a small, innocently-satirical laugh. + </p> + <p> + “She certainly expressed a willingness to come,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “That was only politeness,” Gertrude rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she is very polite—very polite,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “She is too polite,” his son declared, in a softly growling tone which was + habitual to him, but which was an indication of nothing worse than a + vaguely humorous intention. “It is very embarrassing.” + </p> + <p> + “That is more than can be said of you, sir,” said Lizzie Acton, with her + little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t mean to encourage her,” Clifford went on. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I don’t care if you do!” cried Lizzie. + </p> + <p> + “She will not think of you, Clifford,” said Gertrude, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “I hope not!” Clifford exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “She will think of Robert,” Gertrude continued, in the same tone. + </p> + <p> + Robert Acton began to blush; but there was no occasion for it, for everyone + was looking at Gertrude—everyone, at least, save Lizzie, who, + with her pretty head on one side, contemplated her brother. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you attribute motives, Gertrude?” asked Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t attribute motives, father,” said Gertrude. “I only say she will + think of Robert; and she will!” + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude judges by herself!” Acton exclaimed, laughing. “Don’t you, + Gertrude? Of course the Baroness will think of me. She will think of me + from morning till night.” + </p> + <p> + “She will be very comfortable here,” said Charlotte, with something of a + housewife’s pride. “She can have the large northeast room. And the French + bedstead,” Charlotte added, with a constant sense of the lady’s + foreignness. + </p> + <p> + “She will not like it,” said Gertrude; “not even if you pin little tidies + all over the chairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not, dear?” asked Charlotte, perceiving a touch of irony here, but + not resenting it. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had left her chair; she was walking about the room; her stiff + silk dress, which she had put on in honor of the Baroness, made a sound + upon the carpet. “I don’t know,” she replied. “She will want something + more—more private.” + </p> + <p> + “If she wants to be private she can stay in her room,” Lizzie Acton + remarked. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude paused in her walk, looking at her. “That would not be pleasant,” + she answered. “She wants privacy and pleasure together.” + </p> + <p> + Robert Acton began to laugh again. “My dear cousin, what a picture!” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte had fixed her serious eyes upon her sister; she wondered whence + she had suddenly derived these strange notions. Mr. Wentworth also + observed his younger daughter. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what her manner of life may have been,” he said; “but she + certainly never can have enjoyed a more refined and salubrious home.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude stood there looking at them all. “She is the wife of a Prince,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “We are all princes here,” said Mr. Wentworth; “and I don’t know of any + palace in this neighborhood that is to let.” + </p> + <p> + “Cousin William,” Robert Acton interposed, “do you want to do something + handsome? Make them a present, for three months, of the little house over + the way.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very generous with other people’s things!” cried his sister. + </p> + <p> + “Robert is very generous with his own things,” Mr. Wentworth observed + dispassionately, and looking, in cold meditation, at his kinsman. + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude,” Lizzie went on, “I had an idea you were so fond of your new + cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “Which new cousin?” asked Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean the Baroness!” the young girl rejoined, with her laugh. “I + thought you expected to see so much of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of Felix? I hope to see a great deal of him,” said Gertrude, simply. + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you want to keep him out of the house?” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at Lizzie Acton, and then looked away. + </p> + <p> + “Should you want me to live in the house with you, Lizzie?” asked + Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you never will. I hate you!” Such was this young lady’s reply. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Gertrude, stopping before Mr. Wentworth and smiling, with a + smile the sweeter, as her smile always was, for its rarity; “do let them + live in the little house over the way. It will be lovely!” + </p> + <p> + Robert Acton had been watching her. “Gertrude is right,” he said. + “Gertrude is the cleverest girl in the world. If I might take the liberty, + I should strongly recommend their living there.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing there so pretty as the northeast room,” Charlotte urged. + </p> + <p> + “She will make it pretty. Leave her alone!” Acton exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude, at his compliment, had blushed and looked at him: it was as if + someone less familiar had complimented her. “I am sure she will make it + pretty. It will be very interesting. It will be a place to go to. It will + be a foreign house.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we very sure that we need a foreign house?” Mr. Wentworth inquired. + “Do you think it desirable to establish a foreign house—in this + quiet place?” + </p> + <p> + “You speak,” said Acton, laughing, “as if it were a question of the poor + Baroness opening a wine-shop or a gaming-table.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be too lovely!” Gertrude declared again, laying her hand on the + back of her father’s chair. + </p> + <p> + “That she should open a gaming-table?” Charlotte asked, with great + gravity. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at her a moment, and then, “Yes, Charlotte,” she said, + simply. + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude is growing pert,” Clifford Wentworth observed, with his humorous + young growl. “That comes of associating with foreigners.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth looked up at his daughter, who was standing beside him; he + drew her gently forward. “You must be careful,” he said. “You must keep + watch. Indeed, we must all be careful. This is a great change; we are to + be exposed to peculiar influences. I don’t say they are bad. I don’t judge + them in advance. But they may perhaps make it necessary that we should + exercise a great deal of wisdom and self-control. It will be a different + tone.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude was silent a moment, in deference to her father’s speech; then + she spoke in a manner that was not in the least an answer to it. “I want + to see how they will live. I am sure they will have different hours. She + will do all kinds of little things differently. When we go over there it + will be like going to Europe. She will have a boudoir. She will invite us + to dinner—very late. She will breakfast in her room.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte gazed at her sister again. Gertrude’s imagination seemed to her + to be fairly running riot. She had always known that Gertrude had a great + deal of imagination—she had been very proud of it. But at the same + time she had always felt that it was a dangerous and irresponsible + faculty; and now, to her sense, for the moment, it seemed to threaten to + make her sister a strange person who should come in suddenly, as from a + journey, talking of the peculiar and possibly unpleasant things she had + observed. Charlotte’s imagination took no journeys whatever; she kept it, + as it were, in her pocket, with the other furniture of this receptacle—a + thimble, a little box of peppermint, and a morsel of court-plaster. “I + don’t believe she would have any dinner—or any breakfast,” said Miss + Wentworth. “I don’t believe she knows how to do anything herself. I should + have to get her ever so many servants, and she wouldn’t like them.” + </p> + <p> + “She has a maid,” said Gertrude; “a French maid. She mentioned her.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if the maid has a little fluted cap and red slippers,” said + Lizzie Acton. “There was a French maid in that play that Robert took me to + see. She had pink stockings; she was very wicked.” + </p> + <p> + “She was a <i>soubrette</i>,” Gertrude announced, who had never seen a play in + her life. “They call that a soubrette. It will be a great chance to learn + French.” Charlotte gave a little soft, helpless groan. She had a vision of + a wicked, theatrical person, clad in pink stockings and red shoes, and + speaking, with confounding volubility, an incomprehensible tongue, + flitting through the sacred penetralia of that large, clean house. “That + is one reason in favor of their coming here,” Gertrude went on. “But we + can make Eugenia speak French to us, and Felix. I mean to begin—the + next time.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth had kept her standing near him, and he gave her his earnest, + thin, unresponsive glance again. “I want you to make me a promise, + Gertrude,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Not to get excited. Not to allow these—these occurrences to be an + occasion for excitement.” + </p> + <p> + She looked down at him a moment, and then she shook her head. “I don’t + think I can promise that, father. I am excited already.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth was silent a while; they all were silent, as if in + recognition of something audacious and portentous. + </p> + <p> + “I think they had better go to the other house,” said Charlotte, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I shall keep them in the other house,” Mr. Wentworth subjoined, more + pregnantly. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude turned away; then she looked across at Robert Acton. Her cousin + Robert was a great friend of hers; she often looked at him this way + instead of saying things. Her glance on this occasion, however, struck him + as a substitute for a larger volume of diffident utterance than usual, + inviting him to observe, among other things, the inefficiency of her + father’s design—if design it was—for diminishing, in the + interest of quiet nerves, their occasions of contact with their foreign + relatives. But Acton immediately complimented Mr. Wentworth upon his + liberality. “That’s a very nice thing to do,” he said, “giving them the + little house. You will have treated them handsomely, and, whatever + happens, you will be glad of it.” Mr. Wentworth was liberal, and he knew + he was liberal. It gave him pleasure to know it, to feel it, to see it + recorded; and this pleasure is the only palpable form of self-indulgence + with which the narrator of these incidents will be able to charge him. + </p> + <p> + “A three days’ visit at most, over there, is all I should have found + possible,” Madame Münster remarked to her brother, after they had taken + possession of the little white house. “It would have been too + <i>intime</i>—decidedly too <i>intime</i>. Breakfast, dinner, and + tea <i>en famille</i>—it would have been + the end of the world if I could have reached the third day.” And she made + the same observation to her maid Augustine, an intelligent person, who + enjoyed a liberal share of her confidence. Felix declared that he would + willingly spend his life in the bosom of the Wentworth family; that they + were the kindest, simplest, most amiable people in the world, and that he + had taken a prodigious fancy to them all. The Baroness quite agreed with + him that they were simple and kind; they were thoroughly nice people, and + she liked them extremely. The girls were perfect ladies; it was impossible + to be more of a lady than Charlotte Wentworth, in spite of her little + village air. “But as for thinking them the best company in the world,” + said the Baroness, “that is another thing; and as for wishing to live + <i>porte à porte</i> with them, I should as soon think of wishing myself back in + the convent again, to wear a bombazine apron and sleep in a dormitory.” + And yet the Baroness was in high good humor; she had been very much + pleased. With her lively perception and her refined imagination, she was + capable of enjoying anything that was characteristic, anything that was + good of its kind. The Wentworth household seemed to her very perfect in + its kind—wonderfully peaceful and unspotted; pervaded by a sort of + dove-colored freshness that had all the quietude and benevolence of what + she deemed to be Quakerism, and yet seemed to be founded upon a degree of + material abundance for which, in certain matters of detail, one might have + looked in vain at the frugal little court of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. + She perceived immediately that her American relatives thought and talked + very little about money; and this of itself made an impression upon + Eugenia’s imagination. She perceived at the same time that if Charlotte or + Gertrude should ask their father for a very considerable sum he would at + once place it in their hands; and this made a still greater impression. + The greatest impression of all, perhaps, was made by another rapid + induction. The Baroness had an immediate conviction that Robert Acton + would put his hand into his pocket every day in the week if that + rattle-pated little sister of his should bid him. The men in this country, + said the Baroness, are evidently very obliging. Her declaration that she + was looking for rest and retirement had been by no means wholly untrue; + nothing that the Baroness said was wholly untrue. It is but fair to add, + perhaps, that nothing that she said was wholly true. She wrote to a friend + in Germany that it was a return to nature; it was like drinking new milk, + and she was very fond of new milk. She said to herself, of course, that it + would be a little dull; but there can be no better proof of her good + spirits than the fact that she thought she should not mind its being a + little dull. It seemed to her, when from the piazza of her eleemosynary + cottage she looked out over the soundless fields, the stony pastures, the + clear-faced ponds, the rugged little orchards, that she had never been in + the midst of so peculiarly intense a stillness; it was almost a delicate + sensual pleasure. It was all very good, very innocent and safe, and out of + it something good must come. Augustine, indeed, who had an unbounded faith + in her mistress’s wisdom and far-sightedness, was a great deal perplexed + and depressed. She was always ready to take her cue when she understood + it; but she liked to understand it, and on this occasion comprehension + failed. What, indeed, was the Baroness doing <i>dans cette galère</i>? what fish + did she expect to land out of these very stagnant waters? The game was + evidently a deep one. Augustine could trust her; but the sense of walking + in the dark betrayed itself in the physiognomy of this spare, sober, + sallow, middle-aged person, who had nothing in common with Gertrude + Wentworth’s conception of a soubrette, by the most ironical scowl that had + ever rested upon the unpretending tokens of the peace and plenty of the + Wentworths. Fortunately, Augustine could quench skepticism in action. She + quite agreed with her mistress—or rather she quite out-stripped her + mistress—in thinking that the little white house was pitifully bare. + <i>“Il faudra,”</i> said Augustine, <i>“lui faire un peu de toilette.”</i> And she began + to hang up <i>portières</i> in the doorways; to place wax candles, procured after + some research, in unexpected situations; to dispose anomalous draperies + over the arms of sofas and the backs of chairs. The Baroness had brought + with her to the New World a copious provision of the element of costume; + and the two Miss Wentworths, when they came over to see her, were somewhat + bewildered by the obtrusive distribution of her wardrobe. There were India + shawls suspended, curtain-wise, in the parlor door, and curious fabrics, + corresponding to Gertrude’s metaphysical vision of an opera-cloak, tumbled + about in the sitting-places. There were pink silk blinds in the windows, + by which the room was strangely bedimmed; and along the chimney-piece was + disposed a remarkable band of velvet, covered with coarse, dirty-looking + lace. “I have been making myself a little comfortable,” said the Baroness, + much to the confusion of Charlotte, who had been on the point of proposing + to come and help her put her superfluous draperies away. But what + Charlotte mistook for an almost culpably delayed subsidence Gertrude very + presently perceived to be the most ingenious, the most interesting, the + most romantic intention. “What is life, indeed, without curtains?” she + secretly asked herself; and she appeared to herself to have been leading + hitherto an existence singularly garish and totally devoid of festoons. + </p> + <p> + Felix was not a young man who troubled himself greatly about anything—least + of all about the conditions of enjoyment. His faculty of enjoyment was so + large, so unconsciously eager, that it may be said of it that it had a + permanent advance upon embarrassment and sorrow. His sentient faculty was + intrinsically joyous, and novelty and change were in themselves a delight + to him. As they had come to him with a great deal of frequency, his life + had been more agreeable than appeared. Never was a nature more perfectly + fortunate. It was not a restless, apprehensive, ambitious spirit, running + a race with the tyranny of fate, but a temper so unsuspicious as to put + Adversity off her guard, dodging and evading her with the easy, natural + motion of a wind-shifted flower. Felix extracted entertainment from all + things, and all his faculties—his imagination, his intelligence, his + affections, his senses—had a hand in the game. It seemed to him that + Eugenia and he had been very well treated; there was something absolutely + touching in that combination of paternal liberality and social + considerateness which marked Mr. Wentworth’s deportment. It was most + uncommonly kind of him, for instance, to have given them a house. Felix + was positively amused at having a house of his own; for the little white + cottage among the apple trees—the chalet, as Madame Münster always + called it—was much more sensibly his own than any domiciliary + <i>quatrième</i>, looking upon a court, with the rent overdue. Felix had spent a + good deal of his life in looking into courts, with a perhaps slightly + tattered pair of elbows resting upon the ledge of a high-perched window, + and the thin smoke of a cigarette rising into an atmosphere in which + street-cries died away and the vibration of chimes from ancient belfries + became sensible. He had never known anything so infinitely rural as these + New England fields; and he took a great fancy to all their pastoral + roughnesses. He had never had a greater sense of luxurious security; and + at the risk of making him seem a rather sordid adventurer I must declare + that he found an irresistible charm in the fact that he might dine every + day at his uncle’s. The charm was irresistible, however, because his fancy + flung a rosy light over this homely privilege. He appreciated highly the + fare that was set before him. There was a kind of fresh-looking abundance + about it which made him think that people must have lived so in the + mythological era, when they spread their tables upon the grass, + replenished them from cornucopias, and had no particular need of kitchen + stoves. But the great thing that Felix enjoyed was having found a family—sitting + in the midst of gentle, generous people whom he might call by their first + names. He had never known anything more charming than the attention they + paid to what he said. It was like a large sheet of clean, fine-grained + drawing-paper, all ready to be washed over with effective splashes of + water-color. He had never had any cousins, and he had never before found + himself in contact so unrestricted with young unmarried ladies. He was + extremely fond of the society of ladies, and it was new to him that it + might be enjoyed in just this manner. At first he hardly knew what to make + of his state of mind. It seemed to him that he was in love, + indiscriminately, with three girls at once. He saw that Lizzie Acton was + more brilliantly pretty than Charlotte and Gertrude; but this was scarcely + a superiority. His pleasure came from something they had in common—a + part of which was, indeed, that physical delicacy which seemed to make it + proper that they should always dress in thin materials and clear colors. + But they were delicate in other ways, and it was most agreeable to him to + feel that these latter delicacies were appreciable by contact, as it were. + He had known, fortunately, many virtuous gentlewomen, but it now appeared + to him that in his relations with them (especially when they were + unmarried) he had been looking at pictures under glass. He perceived at + present what a nuisance the glass had been—how it perverted and + interfered, how it caught the reflection of other objects and kept you + walking from side to side. He had no need to ask himself whether Charlotte + and Gertrude, and Lizzie Acton, were in the right light; they were always + in the right light. He liked everything about them: he was, for instance, + not at all above liking the fact that they had very slender feet and high + insteps. He liked their pretty noses; he liked their surprised eyes and + their hesitating, not at all positive way of speaking; he liked so much + knowing that he was perfectly at liberty to be alone for hours, anywhere, + with either of them; that preference for one to the other, as a companion + of solitude, remained a minor affair. Charlotte Wentworth’s sweetly severe + features were as agreeable as Lizzie Acton’s wonderfully expressive blue + eyes; and Gertrude’s air of being always ready to walk about and listen + was as charming as anything else, especially as she walked very + gracefully. After a while Felix began to distinguish; but even then he + would often wish, suddenly, that they were not all so sad. Even Lizzie + Acton, in spite of her fine little chatter and laughter, appeared sad. + Even Clifford Wentworth, who had extreme youth in his favor, and kept a + buggy with enormous wheels and a little sorrel mare with the prettiest + legs in the world—even this fortunate lad was apt to have an + averted, uncomfortable glance, and to edge away from you at times, in the + manner of a person with a bad conscience. The only person in the circle + with no sense of oppression of any kind was, to Felix’s perception, Robert + Acton. + </p> + <p> + It might perhaps have been feared that after the completion of those + graceful domiciliary embellishments which have been mentioned Madame Münster + would have found herself confronted with alarming possibilities + of <i>ennui</i>. But as yet she had not taken the alarm. The Baroness was a + restless soul, and she projected her restlessness, as it may be said, into + any situation that lay before her. Up to a certain point her restlessness + might be counted upon to entertain her. She was always expecting something + to happen, and, until it was disappointed, expectancy itself was a + delicate pleasure. What the Baroness expected just now it would take some + ingenuity to set forth; it is enough that while she looked about her she + found something to occupy her imagination. She assured herself that she + was enchanted with her new relatives; she professed to herself that, like + her brother, she felt it a sacred satisfaction to have found a family. It + is certain that she enjoyed to the utmost the gentleness of her kinsfolk’s + deference. She had, first and last, received a great deal of admiration, + and her experience of well-turned compliments was very considerable; but + she knew that she had never been so real a power, never counted for so + much, as now when, for the first time, the standard of comparison of her + little circle was a prey to vagueness. The sense, indeed, that the good + people about her had, as regards her remarkable self, no standard of + comparison at all gave her a feeling of almost illimitable power. It was + true, as she said to herself, that if for this reason they would be able + to discover nothing against her, so they would perhaps neglect to perceive + some of her superior points; but she always wound up her reflections by + declaring that she would take care of that. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte and Gertrude were in some perplexity between their desire to + show all proper attention to Madame Münster and their fear of being + importunate. The little house in the orchard had hitherto been occupied + during the summer months by intimate friends of the family, or by poor + relations who found in Mr. Wentworth a landlord attentive to repairs and + oblivious of quarter-day. Under these circumstances the open door of the + small house and that of the large one, facing each other across their + homely gardens, levied no tax upon hourly visits. But the Misses Wentworth + received an impression that Eugenia was no friend to the primitive custom + of “dropping in;” she evidently had no idea of living without a + door-keeper. “One goes into your house as into an inn—except that + there are no servants rushing forward,” she said to Charlotte. And she + added that that was very charming. Gertrude explained to her sister that + she meant just the reverse; she didn’t like it at all. Charlotte inquired + why she should tell an untruth, and Gertrude answered that there was + probably some very good reason for it which they should discover when they + knew her better. “There can surely be no good reason for telling an + untruth,” said Charlotte. “I hope she does not think so.” + </p> + <p> + They had of course desired, from the first, to do everything in the way of + helping her to arrange herself. It had seemed to Charlotte that there + would be a great many things to talk about; but the Baroness was + apparently inclined to talk about nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Write her a note, asking her leave to come and see her. I think that is + what she will like,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I give her the trouble of answering me?” Charlotte asked. “She + will have to write a note and send it over.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think she will take any trouble,” said Gertrude, profoundly. + </p> + <p> + “What then will she do?” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I am curious to see,” said Gertrude, leaving her sister with + an impression that her curiosity was morbid. + </p> + <p> + They went to see the Baroness without preliminary correspondence; and in + the little salon which she had already created, with its becoming light + and its festoons, they found Robert Acton. + </p> + <p> + Eugenia was intensely gracious, but she accused them of neglecting her + cruelly. “You see Mr. Acton has had to take pity upon me,” she said. “My + brother goes off sketching, for hours; I can never depend upon him. So I + was to send Mr. Acton to beg you to come and give me the benefit of your + wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at her sister. She wanted to say, “<i>That</i> is what she would + have done.” Charlotte said that they hoped the Baroness would always come + and dine with them; it would give them so much pleasure; and, in that + case, she would spare herself the trouble of having a cook. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I must have a cook!” cried the Baroness. “An old negress in a + yellow turban. I have set my heart upon that. I want to look out of my + window and see her sitting there on the grass, against the background of + those crooked, dusky little apple trees, pulling the husks off a lapful of + Indian corn. That will be local color, you know. There isn’t much of it + here—you don’t mind my saying that, do you?—so one must make + the most of what one can get. I shall be most happy to dine with you + whenever you will let me; but I want to be able to ask you sometimes. And + I want to be able to ask Mr. Acton,” added the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “You must come and ask me at home,” said Acton. “You must come and see me; + you must dine with me first. I want to show you my place; I want to + introduce you to my mother.” He called again upon Madame Münster, two + days later. He was constantly at the other house; he used to walk across + the fields from his own place, and he appeared to have fewer scruples than + his cousins with regard to dropping in. On this occasion he found that Mr. + Brand had come to pay his respects to the charming stranger; but after + Acton’s arrival the young theologian said nothing. He sat in his chair + with his two hands clasped, fixing upon his hostess a grave, fascinated + stare. The Baroness talked to Robert Acton, but, as she talked, she turned + and smiled at Mr. Brand, who never took his eyes off her. The two men + walked away together; they were going to Mr. Wentworth’s. Mr. Brand still + said nothing; but after they had passed into Mr. Wentworth’s garden he + stopped and looked back for some time at the little white house. Then, + looking at his companion, with his head bent a little to one side and his + eyes somewhat contracted, “Now I suppose that’s what is called + conversation,” he said; “real conversation.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s what I call a very clever woman,” said Acton, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “It is most interesting,” Mr. Brand continued. “I only wish she would + speak French; it would seem more in keeping. It must be quite the style + that we have heard about, that we have read about—the style of + conversation of Madame de Staël, of Madame Récamier.” + </p> + <p> + Acton also looked at Madame Münster’s residence among its hollyhocks and + apple trees. “What I should like to know,” he said, smiling, “is just what + has brought Madame Récamier to live in that place!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth, with his cane and his gloves in his hand, went every + afternoon to call upon his niece. A couple of hours later she came over to + the great house to tea. She had let the proposal that she should regularly + dine there fall to the ground; she was in the enjoyment of whatever + satisfaction was to be derived from the spectacle of an old negress in a + crimson turban shelling peas under the apple trees. Charlotte, who had + provided the ancient negress, thought it must be a strange household, + Eugenia having told her that Augustine managed everything, the ancient + negress included—Augustine who was naturally devoid of all + acquaintance with the expurgatory English tongue. By far the most immoral + sentiment which I shall have occasion to attribute to Charlotte Wentworth + was a certain emotion of disappointment at finding that, in spite of these + irregular conditions, the domestic arrangements at the small house were + apparently not—from Eugenia’s peculiar point of view—strikingly + offensive. The Baroness found it amusing to go to tea; she dressed as if + for dinner. The tea-table offered an anomalous and picturesque repast; and + on leaving it they all sat and talked in the large piazza, or wandered + about the garden in the starlight, with their ears full of those sounds of + strange insects which, though they are supposed to be, all over the world, + a part of the magic of summer nights, seemed to the Baroness to have + beneath these western skies an incomparable resonance. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth, though, as I say, he went punctiliously to call upon her, + was not able to feel that he was getting used to his niece. It taxed his + imagination to believe that she was really his half-sister’s child. His + sister was a figure of his early years; she had been only twenty when she + went abroad, never to return, making in foreign parts a willful and + undesirable marriage. His aunt, Mrs. Whiteside, who had taken her to + Europe for the benefit of the tour, gave, on her return, so lamentable an + account of Mr. Adolphus Young, to whom the headstrong girl had united her + destiny, that it operated as a chill upon family feeling—especially + in the case of the half-brothers. Catherine had done nothing subsequently + to propitiate her family; she had not even written to them in a way that + indicated a lucid appreciation of their suspended sympathy; so that it had + become a tradition in Boston circles that the highest charity, as regards + this young lady, was to think it well to forget her, and to abstain from + conjecture as to the extent to which her aberrations were reproduced in + her descendants. Over these young people—a vague report of their + existence had come to his ears—Mr. Wentworth had not, in the course + of years, allowed his imagination to hover. It had plenty of occupation + nearer home, and though he had many cares upon his conscience the idea + that he had been an unnatural uncle was, very properly, never among the + number. Now that his nephew and niece had come before him, he perceived + that they were the fruit of influences and circumstances very different + from those under which his own familiar progeny had reached a + vaguely-qualified maturity. He felt no provocation to say that these + influences had been exerted for evil; but he was sometimes afraid that he + should not be able to like his distinguished, delicate, lady-like niece. + He was paralyzed and bewildered by her foreignness. She spoke, somehow, a + different language. There was something strange in her words. He had a + feeling that another man, in his place, would accommodate himself to her + tone; would ask her questions and joke with her, reply to those + pleasantries of her own which sometimes seemed startling as addressed to + an uncle. But Mr. Wentworth could not do these things. He could not even + bring himself to attempt to measure her position in the world. She was the + wife of a foreign nobleman who desired to repudiate her. This had a + singular sound, but the old man felt himself destitute of the materials + for a judgment. It seemed to him that he ought to find them in his own + experience, as a man of the world and an almost public character; but they + were not there, and he was ashamed to confess to himself—much more + to reveal to Eugenia by interrogations possibly too innocent—the + unfurnished condition of this repository. + </p> + <p> + It appeared to him that he could get much nearer, as he would have said, + to his nephew; though he was not sure that Felix was altogether safe. He + was so bright and handsome and talkative that it was impossible not to + think well of him; and yet it seemed as if there were something almost + impudent, almost vicious—or as if there ought to be—in a young + man being at once so joyous and so positive. It was to be observed that + while Felix was not at all a serious young man there was somehow more of + him—he had more weight and volume and resonance—than a number + of young men who were distinctly serious. While Mr. Wentworth meditated + upon this anomaly his nephew was admiring him unrestrictedly. He thought + him a most delicate, generous, high-toned old gentleman, with a very + handsome head, of the ascetic type, which he promised himself the profit + of sketching. Felix was far from having made a secret of the fact that he + wielded the paint-brush, and it was not his own fault if it failed to be + generally understood that he was prepared to execute the most striking + likenesses on the most reasonable terms. “He is an artist—my cousin + is an artist,” said Gertrude; and she offered this information to everyone + who would receive it. She offered it to herself, as it were, by way of + admonition and reminder; she repeated to herself at odd moments, in lonely + places, that Felix was invested with this sacred character. Gertrude had + never seen an artist before; she had only read about such people. They + seemed to her a romantic and mysterious class, whose life was made up of + those agreeable accidents that never happened to other persons. And it + merely quickened her meditations on this point that Felix should declare, + as he repeatedly did, that he was really not an artist. “I have never gone + into the thing seriously,” he said. “I have never studied; I have had no + training. I do a little of everything, and nothing well. I am only an + amateur.” + </p> + <p> + It pleased Gertrude even more to think that he was an amateur than to + think that he was an artist; the former word, to her fancy, had an even + subtler connotation. She knew, however, that it was a word to use more + soberly. Mr. Wentworth used it freely; for though he had not been exactly + familiar with it, he found it convenient as a help toward classifying + Felix, who, as a young man extremely clever and active and apparently + respectable and yet not engaged in any recognized business, was an + importunate anomaly. Of course the Baroness and her brother—she was + always spoken of first—were a welcome topic of conversation between + Mr. Wentworth and his daughters and their occasional visitors. + </p> + <p> + “And the young man, your nephew, what is his profession?” asked an old + gentleman—Mr. Broderip, of Salem—who had been Mr. Wentworth’s + classmate at Harvard College in the year 1809, and who came into his + office in Devonshire Street. (Mr. Wentworth, in his later years, used to + go but three times a week to his office, where he had a large amount of + highly confidential trust-business to transact.) + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’s an amateur,” said Felix’s uncle, with folded hands, and with + a certain satisfaction in being able to say it. And Mr. Broderip had gone + back to Salem with a feeling that this was probably a “European” + expression for a broker or a grain exporter. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to do your head, sir,” said Felix to his uncle one evening, + before them all—Mr. Brand and Robert Acton being also present. “I + think I should make a very fine thing of it. It’s an interesting head; it’s + very mediaeval.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth looked grave; he felt awkwardly, as if all the company had + come in and found him standing before the looking-glass. “The Lord made + it,” he said. “I don’t think it is for man to make it over again.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly the Lord made it,” replied Felix, laughing, “and he made it + very well. But life has been touching up the work. It is a very + interesting type of head. It’s delightfully wasted and emaciated. The + complexion is wonderfully bleached.” And Felix looked round at the circle, + as if to call their attention to these interesting points. Mr. Wentworth + grew visibly paler. “I should like to do you as an old prelate, an old + cardinal, or the prior of an order.” + </p> + <p> + “A prelate, a cardinal?” murmured Mr. Wentworth. “Do you refer to the + Roman Catholic priesthood?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean an old ecclesiastic who should have led a very pure, abstinent + life. Now I take it that has been the case with you, sir; one sees it in + your face,” Felix proceeded. “You have been very—a very moderate. + Don’t you think one always sees that in a man’s face?” + </p> + <p> + “You see more in a man’s face than I should think of looking for,” said + Mr. Wentworth coldly. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness rattled her fan, and gave her brilliant laugh. “It is a risk + to look so close!” she exclaimed. “My uncle has some peccadilloes on his + conscience.” Mr. Wentworth looked at her, painfully at a loss; and in so + far as the signs of a pure and abstinent life were visible in his face + they were then probably peculiarly manifest. “You are a <i>beau vieillard</i>, + dear uncle,” said Madame Münster, smiling with her foreign eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are paying me a compliment,” said the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, I am not the first woman that ever did so!” cried the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are,” said Mr. Wentworth gravely. And turning to Felix he + added, in the same tone, “Please don’t take my likeness. My children have + my daguerreotype. That is quite satisfactory.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t promise,” said Felix, “not to work your head into something!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth looked at him and then at all the others; then he got up and + slowly walked away. + </p> + <p> + “Felix,” said Gertrude, in the silence that followed, “I wish you would + paint my portrait.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte wondered whether Gertrude was right in wishing this; and she + looked at Mr. Brand as the most legitimate way of ascertaining. Whatever + Gertrude did or said, Charlotte always looked at Mr. Brand. It was a + standing pretext for looking at Mr. Brand—always, as Charlotte + thought, in the interest of Gertrude’s welfare. It is true that she felt a + tremulous interest in Gertrude being right; for Charlotte, in her small, + still way, was an heroic sister. + </p> + <p> + “We should be glad to have your portrait, Miss Gertrude,” said Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “I should be delighted to paint so charming a model,” Felix declared. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you are so lovely, my dear?” asked Lizzie Acton, with her + little inoffensive pertness, biting off a knot in her knitting. + </p> + <p> + “It is not because I think I am beautiful,” said Gertrude, looking all + round. “I don’t think I am beautiful, at all.” She spoke with a sort of + conscious deliberateness; and it seemed very strange to Charlotte to hear + her discussing this question so publicly. “It is because I think it would + be amusing to sit and be painted. I have always thought that.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry you have not had better things to think about, my daughter,” + said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “You are very beautiful, cousin Gertrude,” Felix declared. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a compliment,” said Gertrude. “I put all the compliments I + receive into a little money-jug that has a slit in the side. I shake them + up and down, and they rattle. There are not many yet—only two or + three.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s not a compliment,” Felix rejoined. “See; I am careful not to + give it the form of a compliment. I didn’t think you were beautiful at + first. But you have come to seem so little by little.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, now, your jug doesn’t burst!” exclaimed Lizzie. + </p> + <p> + “I think sitting for one’s portrait is only one of the various forms of + idleness,” said Mr. Wentworth. “Their name is legion.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” cried Felix, “you can’t be said to be idle when you are + making a man work so!” + </p> + <p> + “One might be painted while one is asleep,” suggested Mr. Brand, as a + contribution to the discussion. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, do paint me while I am asleep,” said Gertrude to Felix, smiling. And + she closed her eyes a little. It had by this time become a matter of + almost exciting anxiety to Charlotte what Gertrude would say or would do + next. + </p> + <p> + She began to sit for her portrait on the following day—in the open + air, on the north side of the piazza. “I wish you would tell me what you + think of us—how we seem to you,” she said to Felix, as he sat before + his easel. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to me the best people in the world,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “You say that,” Gertrude resumed, “because it saves you the trouble of + saying anything else.” + </p> + <p> + The young man glanced at her over the top of his canvas. “What else should + I say? It would certainly be a great deal of trouble to say anything + different.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Gertrude, “you have seen people before that you have liked, + have you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I have, thank Heaven!” + </p> + <p> + “And they have been very different from us,” Gertrude went on. + </p> + <p> + “That only proves,” said Felix, “that there are a thousand different ways + of being good company.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think us good company?” asked Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Company for a king!” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude was silent a moment; and then, “There must be a thousand + different ways of being dreary,” she said; “and sometimes I think we make + use of them all.” + </p> + <p> + Felix stood up quickly, holding up his hand. “If you could only keep that + look on your face for half an hour—while I catch it!” he said. “It + is uncommonly handsome.” + </p> + <p> + “To look handsome for half an hour—that is a great deal to ask of + me,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “It would be the portrait of a young woman who has taken some vow, some + pledge, that she repents of,” said Felix, “and who is thinking it over at + leisure.” + </p> + <p> + “I have taken no vow, no pledge,” said Gertrude, very gravely; “I have + nothing to repent of.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin, that was only a figure of speech. I am very sure that no + one in your excellent family has anything to repent of.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet we are always repenting!” Gertrude exclaimed. “That is what I + mean by our being dreary. You know it perfectly well; you only pretend + that you don’t.” + </p> + <p> + Felix gave a quick laugh. “The half hour is going on, and yet you are + handsomer than ever. One must be careful what one says, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “To me,” said Gertrude, “you can say anything.” + </p> + <p> + Felix looked at her, as an artist might, and painted for some time in + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you seem to me different from your father and sister—from most + of the people you have lived with,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “To say that one’s self,” Gertrude went on, “is like saying—by + implication, at least—that one is better. I am not better; I am much + worse. But they say themselves that I am different. It makes them + unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + “Since you accuse me of concealing my real impressions, I may admit that I + think the tendency—among you generally—is to be made unhappy + too easily.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would tell that to my father,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “It might make him more unhappy!” Felix exclaimed, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “It certainly would. I don’t believe you have seen people like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear cousin, how do you know what I have seen?” Felix demanded. + “How can I tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “You might tell me a great many things, if you only would. You have seen + people like yourself—people who are bright and gay and fond of + amusement. We are not fond of amusement.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Felix, “I confess that rather strikes me. You don’t seem to me + to get all the pleasure out of life that you might. You don’t seem to me + to enjoy..... Do you mind my saying this?” he asked, pausing. + </p> + <p> + “Please go on,” said the girl, earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to me very well placed for enjoying. You have money and liberty + and what is called in Europe a ‘position.’ But you take a painful view of + life, as one may say.” + </p> + <p> + “One ought to think it bright and charming and delightful, eh?” asked + Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “I should say so—if one can. It is true it all depends upon that,” + Felix added. + </p> + <p> + “You know there is a great deal of misery in the world,” said his model. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen a little of it,” the young man rejoined. “But it was all over + there—beyond the sea. I don’t see any here. This is a paradise.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude said nothing; she sat looking at the dahlias and the + currant-bushes in the garden, while Felix went on with his work. “To + ‘enjoy,’” she began at last, “to take life—not painfully, must one + do something wrong?” + </p> + <p> + Felix gave his long, light laugh again. “Seriously, I think not. And for + this reason, among others: you strike me as very capable of enjoying, if + the chance were given you, and yet at the same time as incapable of + wrong-doing.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure,” said Gertrude, “that you are very wrong in telling a person + that she is incapable of that. We are never nearer to evil than when we + believe that.” + </p> + <p> + “You are handsomer than ever,” observed Felix, irrelevantly. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had got used to hearing him say this. There was not so much + excitement in it as at first. “What ought one to do?” she continued. “To + give parties, to go to the theatre, to read novels, to keep late hours?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it’s what one does or one doesn’t do that promotes + enjoyment,” her companion answered. “It is the general way of looking at + life.” + </p> + <p> + “They look at it as a discipline—that’s what they do here. I have + often been told that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s very good. But there is another way,” added Felix, smiling: + “to look at it as an opportunity.” + </p> + <p> + “An opportunity—yes,” said Gertrude. “One would get more pleasure + that way.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t attempt to say anything better for it than that it has been my + own way—and that is not saying much!” Felix had laid down his + palette and brushes; he was leaning back, with his arms folded, to judge + the effect of his work. “And you know,” he said, “I am a very petty + personage.” + </p> + <p> + “You have a great deal of talent,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “No—no,” the young man rejoined, in a tone of cheerful impartiality, + “I have not a great deal of talent. It is nothing at all remarkable. I + assure you I should know if it were. I shall always be obscure. The world + will never hear of me.” Gertrude looked at him with a strange feeling. She + was thinking of the great world which he knew and which she did not, and + how full of brilliant talents it must be, since it could afford to make + light of his abilities. “You needn’t in general attach much importance to + anything I tell you,” he pursued; “but you may believe me when I say this,—that + I am little better than a good-natured feather-head.” + </p> + <p> + “A feather-head?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I am a species of Bohemian.” + </p> + <p> + “A Bohemian?” Gertrude had never heard this term before, save as a + geographical denomination; and she quite failed to understand the + figurative meaning which her companion appeared to attach to it. But it + gave her pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Felix had pushed back his chair and risen to his feet; he slowly came + toward her, smiling. “I am a sort of adventurer,” he said, looking down at + her. + </p> + <p> + She got up, meeting his smile. “An adventurer?” she repeated. “I should + like to hear your adventures.” + </p> + <p> + For an instant she believed that he was going to take her hand; but he + dropped his own hands suddenly into the pockets of his painting-jacket. + “There is no reason why you shouldn’t,” he said. “I have been an + adventurer, but my adventures have been very innocent. They have all been + happy ones; I don’t think there are any I shouldn’t tell. They were very + pleasant and very pretty; I should like to go over them in memory. Sit + down again, and I will begin,” he added in a moment, with his naturally + persuasive smile. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude sat down again on that day, and she sat down on several other + days. Felix, while he plied his brush, told her a great many stories, and + she listened with charmed avidity. Her eyes rested upon his lips; she was + very serious; sometimes, from her air of wondering gravity, he thought she + was displeased. But Felix never believed for more than a single moment in + any displeasure of his own producing. This would have been fatuity if the + optimism it expressed had not been much more a hope than a prejudice. It + is beside the matter to say that he had a good conscience; for the best + conscience is a sort of self-reproach, and this young man’s brilliantly + healthy nature spent itself in objective good intentions which were + ignorant of any test save exactness in hitting their mark. He told + Gertrude how he had walked over France and Italy with a painter’s knapsack + on his back, paying his way often by knocking off a flattering portrait of + his host or hostess. He told her how he had played the violin in a little + band of musicians—not of high celebrity—who traveled through + foreign lands giving provincial concerts. He told her also how he had been + a momentary ornament of a troupe of strolling actors, engaged in the + arduous task of interpreting Shakespeare to French and German, Polish and + Hungarian audiences. + </p> + <p> + While this periodical recital was going on, Gertrude lived in a fantastic + world; she seemed to herself to be reading a romance that came out in + daily numbers. She had known nothing so delightful since the perusal of + <i>Nicholas Nickleby</i>. One afternoon she went to see her cousin, Mrs. Acton, + Robert’s mother, who was a great invalid, never leaving the house. She + came back alone, on foot, across the fields—this being a short way + which they often used. Felix had gone to Boston with her father, who + desired to take the young man to call upon some of his friends, old + gentlemen who remembered his mother—remembered her, but said nothing + about her—and several of whom, with the gentle ladies their wives, + had driven out from town to pay their respects at the little house among + the apple trees, in vehicles which reminded the Baroness, who received her + visitors with discriminating civility, of the large, light, rattling + barouche in which she herself had made her journey to this neighborhood. + The afternoon was waning; in the western sky the great picture of a New + England sunset, painted in crimson and silver, was suspended from the + zenith; and the stony pastures, as Gertrude traversed them, thinking + intently to herself, were covered with a light, clear glow. At the open + gate of one of the fields she saw from the distance a man’s figure; he + stood there as if he were waiting for her, and as she came nearer she + recognized Mr. Brand. She had a feeling as of not having seen him for some + time; she could not have said for how long, for it yet seemed to her that + he had been very lately at the house. + </p> + <p> + “May I walk back with you?” he asked. And when she had said that he might + if he wanted, he observed that he had seen her and recognized her half a + mile away. + </p> + <p> + “You must have very good eyes,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have very good eyes, Miss Gertrude,” said Mr. Brand. She perceived + that he meant something; but for a long time past Mr. Brand had constantly + meant something, and she had almost got used to it. She felt, however, + that what he meant had now a renewed power to disturb her, to perplex and + agitate her. He walked beside her in silence for a moment, and then he + added, “I have had no trouble in seeing that you are beginning to avoid + me. But perhaps,” he went on, “one needn’t have had very good eyes to see + that.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not avoided you,” said Gertrude, without looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “I think you have been unconscious that you were avoiding me,” Mr. Brand + replied. “You have not even known that I was there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are here now, Mr. Brand!” said Gertrude, with a little laugh. + “I know that very well.” + </p> + <p> + He made no rejoinder. He simply walked beside her slowly, as they were + obliged to walk over the soft grass. Presently they came to another gate, + which was closed. Mr. Brand laid his hand upon it, but he made no movement + to open it; he stood and looked at his companion. “You are very much + interested—very much absorbed,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude glanced at him; she saw that he was pale and that he looked + excited. She had never seen Mr. Brand excited before, and she felt that + the spectacle, if fully carried out, would be impressive, almost painful. + “Absorbed in what?” she asked. Then she looked away at the illuminated + sky. She felt guilty and uncomfortable, and yet she was vexed with herself + for feeling so. But Mr. Brand, as he stood there looking at her with his + small, kind, persistent eyes, represented an immense body of + half-obliterated obligations, that were rising again into a certain + distinctness. + </p> + <p> + “You have new interests, new occupations,” he went on. “I don’t know that + I can say that you have new duties. We have always old ones, Gertrude,” he + added. + </p> + <p> + “Please open the gate, Mr. Brand,” she said; and she felt as if, in saying + so, she were cowardly and petulant. But he opened the gate, and allowed + her to pass; then he closed it behind himself. Before she had time to turn + away he put out his hand and held her an instant by the wrist. + </p> + <p> + “I want to say something to you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you want to say,” she answered. And she was on the point of + adding, “And I know just how you will say it;” but these words she kept + back. + </p> + <p> + “I love you, Gertrude,” he said. “I love you very much; I love you more + than ever.” + </p> + <p> + He said the words just as she had known he would; she had heard them + before. They had no charm for her; she had said to herself before that it + was very strange. It was supposed to be delightful for a woman to listen + to such words; but these seemed to her flat and mechanical. “I wish you + would forget that,” she declared. + </p> + <p> + “How can I—why should I?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have made you no promise—given you no pledge,” she said, looking + at him, with her voice trembling a little. + </p> + <p> + “You have let me feel that I have an influence over you. You have opened + your mind to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I never opened my mind to you, Mr. Brand!” Gertrude cried, with some + vehemence. + </p> + <p> + “Then you were not so frank as I thought—as we all thought.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see what anyone else had to do with it!” cried the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I mean your father and your sister. You know it makes them happy to think + you will listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little laugh. “It doesn’t make them happy,” she said. “Nothing + makes them happy. No one is happy here.” + </p> + <p> + “I think your cousin is very happy—Mr. Young,” rejoined Mr. Brand, + in a soft, almost timid tone. + </p> + <p> + “So much the better for him!” And Gertrude gave her little laugh again. + </p> + <p> + The young man looked at her a moment. “You are very much changed,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear it,” Gertrude declared. + </p> + <p> + “I am not. I have known you a long time, and I have loved you as you + were.” + </p> + <p> + “I am much obliged to you,” said Gertrude. “I must be going home.” + </p> + <p> + He on his side, gave a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You certainly do avoid me—you see!” + </p> + <p> + “Avoid me, then,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her again; and then, very gently, “No I will not avoid you,” + he replied; “but I will leave you, for the present, to yourself. I think + you will remember—after a while—some of the things you have + forgotten. I think you will come back to me; I have great faith in that.” + </p> + <p> + This time his voice was very touching; there was a strong, reproachful + force in what he said, and Gertrude could answer nothing. He turned away + and stood there, leaning his elbows on the gate and looking at the + beautiful sunset. Gertrude left him and took her way home again; but when + she reached the middle of the next field she suddenly burst into tears. + Her tears seemed to her to have been a long time gathering, and for some + moments it was a kind of glee to shed them. But they presently passed + away. There was something a little hard about Gertrude; and she never wept + again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + Going of an afternoon to call upon his niece, Mr. Wentworth more than once + found Robert Acton sitting in her little drawing-room. This was in no + degree, to Mr. Wentworth, a perturbing fact, for he had no sense of + competing with his young kinsman for Eugenia’s good graces. Madame + Münster’s uncle had the highest opinion of Robert Acton, who, indeed, in + the family at large, was the object of a great deal of undemonstrative + appreciation. They were all proud of him, in so far as the charge of being + proud may be brought against people who were, habitually, distinctly + guiltless of the misdemeanor known as “taking credit.” They never boasted + of Robert Acton, nor indulged in vainglorious reference to him; they never + quoted the clever things he had said, nor mentioned the generous things he + had done. But a sort of frigidly-tender faith in his unlimited goodness + was a part of their personal sense of right; and there can, perhaps, be no + better proof of the high esteem in which he was held than the fact that no + explicit judgment was ever passed upon his actions. He was no more praised + than he was blamed; but he was tacitly felt to be an ornament to his + circle. He was the man of the world of the family. He had been to China + and brought home a collection of curiosities; he had made a fortune—or + rather he had quintupled a fortune already considerable; he was + distinguished by that combination of celibacy, “property,” and good humor + which appeals to even the most subdued imaginations; and it was taken for + granted that he would presently place these advantages at the disposal of + some well-regulated young woman of his own “set.” Mr. Wentworth was not a + man to admit to himself that—his paternal duties apart—he + liked any individual much better than all other individuals; but he + thought Robert Acton extremely judicious; and this was perhaps as near an + approach as he was capable of to the eagerness of preference, which his + temperament repudiated as it would have disengaged itself from something + slightly unchaste. Acton was, in fact, very judicious—and something + more beside; and indeed it must be claimed for Mr. Wentworth that in the + more illicit parts of his preference there hovered the vague adumbration + of a belief that his cousin’s final merit was a certain enviable capacity + for whistling, rather gallantly, at the sanctions of mere judgment—for + showing a larger courage, a finer quality of pluck, than common occasion + demanded. Mr. Wentworth would never have risked the intimation that Acton + was made, in the smallest degree, of the stuff of a hero; but this is + small blame to him, for Robert would certainly never have risked it + himself. Acton certainly exercised great discretion in all things—beginning + with his estimate of himself. He knew that he was by no means so much of a + man of the world as he was supposed to be in local circles; but it must be + added that he knew also that his natural shrewdness had a reach of which + he had never quite given local circles the measure. He was addicted to + taking the humorous view of things, and he had discovered that even in the + narrowest circles such a disposition may find frequent opportunities. Such + opportunities had formed for some time—that is, since his return + from China, a year and a half before—the most active element in this + gentleman’s life, which had just now a rather indolent air. He was + perfectly willing to get married. He was very fond of books, and he had a + handsome library; that is, his books were much more numerous than Mr. + Wentworth’s. He was also very fond of pictures; but it must be confessed, + in the fierce light of contemporary criticism, that his walls were adorned + with several rather abortive masterpieces. He had got his learning—and + there was more of it than commonly appeared—at Harvard College; and + he took a pleasure in old associations, which made it a part of his daily + contentment to live so near this institution that he often passed it in + driving to Boston. He was extremely interested in the Baroness Münster. + </p> + <p> + She was very frank with him; or at least she intended to be. “I am sure + you find it very strange that I should have settled down in this + out-of-the-way part of the world!” she said to him three or four weeks + after she had installed herself. “I am certain you are wondering about my + motives. They are very pure.” The Baroness by this time was an old + inhabitant; the best society in Boston had called upon her, and Clifford + Wentworth had taken her several times to drive in his buggy. + </p> + <p> + Robert Acton was seated near her, playing with a fan; there were always + several fans lying about her drawing-room, with long ribbons of different + colors attached to them, and Acton was always playing with one. “No, I + don’t find it at all strange,” he said slowly, smiling. “That a clever + woman should turn up in Boston, or its suburbs—that does not require + so much explanation. Boston is a very nice place.” + </p> + <p> + “If you wish to make me contradict you,” said the Baroness, “<i>vous vous y + prenez mal</i>. In certain moods there is nothing I am not capable of agreeing + to. Boston is a paradise, and we are in the suburbs of Paradise.” + </p> + <p> + “Just now I am not at all in the suburbs; I am in the place itself,” + rejoined Acton, who was lounging a little in his chair. He was, however, + not always lounging; and when he was he was not quite so relaxed as he + pretended. To a certain extent, he sought refuge from shyness in this + appearance of relaxation; and like many persons in the same circumstances + he somewhat exaggerated the appearance. Beyond this, the air of being much + at his ease was a cover for vigilant observation. He was more than + interested in this clever woman, who, whatever he might say, was clever + not at all after the Boston fashion; she plunged him into a kind of + excitement, held him in vague suspense. He was obliged to admit to himself + that he had never yet seen a woman just like this—not even in China. + He was ashamed, for inscrutable reasons, of the vivacity of his emotion, + and he carried it off, superficially, by taking, still superficially, the + humorous view of Madame Münster. It was not at all true that he thought it + very natural of her to have made this pious pilgrimage. It might have been + said of him in advance that he was too good a Bostonian to regard in the + light of an eccentricity the desire of even the remotest alien to visit + the New England metropolis. This was an impulse for which, surely, no + apology was needed; and Madame Münster was the fortunate possessor of + several New England cousins. In fact, however, Madame Münster struck him + as out of keeping with her little circle; she was at the best a very + agreeable, a gracefully mystifying anomaly. He knew very well that it + would not do to address these reflections too crudely to Mr. Wentworth; he + would never have remarked to the old gentleman that he wondered what the + Baroness was up to. And indeed he had no great desire to share his vague + mistrust with anyone. There was a personal pleasure in it; the greatest + pleasure he had known at least since he had come from China. He would keep + the Baroness, for better or worse, to himself; he had a feeling that he + deserved to enjoy a monopoly of her, for he was certainly the person who + had most adequately gauged her capacity for social intercourse. Before + long it became apparent to him that the Baroness was disposed to lay no + tax upon such a monopoly. + </p> + <p> + One day (he was sitting there again and playing with a fan) she asked him + to apologize, should the occasion present itself, to certain people in + Boston for her not having returned their calls. “There are half a dozen + places,” she said; “a formidable list. Charlotte Wentworth has written it + out for me, in a terrifically distinct hand. There is no ambiguity on the + subject; I know perfectly where I must go. Mr. Wentworth informs me that + the carriage is always at my disposal, and Charlotte offers to go with me, + in a pair of tight gloves and a very stiff petticoat. And yet for three + days I have been putting it off. They must think me horribly vicious.” + </p> + <p> + “You ask me to apologize,” said Acton, “but you don’t tell me what excuse + I can offer.” + </p> + <p> + “That is more,” the Baroness declared, “than I am held to. It would be + like my asking you to buy me a bouquet and giving you the money. I have no + reason except that—somehow—it’s too violent an effort. It is + not inspiring. Wouldn’t that serve as an excuse, in Boston? I am told + they are very sincere; they don’t tell fibs. And then Felix ought to go + with me, and he is never in readiness. I don’t see him. He is always + roaming about the fields and sketching old barns, or taking ten-mile + walks, or painting someone’s portrait, or rowing on the pond, or flirting + with Gertrude Wentworth.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think it would amuse you to go and see a few people,” said + Acton. “You are having a very quiet time of it here. It’s a dull life for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the quiet,—the quiet!” the Baroness exclaimed. “That’s what I + like. It’s rest. That’s what I came here for. Amusement? I have had + amusement. And as for seeing people—I have already seen a great many + in my life. If it didn’t sound ungracious I should say that I wish very + humbly your people here would leave me alone!” + </p> + <p> + Acton looked at her a moment, and she looked at him. She was a woman who + took being looked at remarkably well. “So you have come here for rest?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “So I may say. I came for many of those reasons that are no reasons—don’t + you know?—and yet that are really the best: to come away, to change, + to break with everything. When once one comes away one must arrive + somewhere, and I asked myself why I shouldn’t arrive here.” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly had time on the way!” said Acton, laughing. + </p> + <p> + Madame Münster looked at him again; and then, smiling: “And I have + certainly had time, since I got here, to ask myself why I came. However, I + never ask myself idle questions. Here I am, and it seems to me you ought + only to thank me.” + </p> + <p> + “When you go away you will see the difficulties I shall put in your path.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to put difficulties in my path?” she asked, rearranging the + rosebud in her corsage. + </p> + <p> + “The greatest of all—that of having been so agreeable——” + </p> + <p> + “That I shall be unable to depart? Don’t be too sure. I have left some + very agreeable people over there.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Acton, “but it was to come here, where I am!” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know of your existence. Excuse me for saying anything so rude; + but, honestly speaking, I did not. No,” the Baroness pursued, “it was + precisely not to see you—such people as you—that I came.” + </p> + <p> + “Such people as me?” cried Acton. + </p> + <p> + “I had a sort of longing to come into those natural relations which I knew + I should find here. Over there I had only, as I may say, artificial + relations. Don’t you see the difference?” + </p> + <p> + “The difference tells against me,” said Acton. “I suppose I am an + artificial relation.” + </p> + <p> + “Conventional,” declared the Baroness; “very conventional.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is one way in which the relation of a lady and a gentleman + may always become natural,” said Acton. + </p> + <p> + “You mean by their becoming lovers? That may be natural or not. And at any + rate,” rejoined Eugenia, <i>“nous n’en sommes pas là!”</i> + </p> + <p> + They were not, as yet; but a little later, when she began to go with him + to drive, it might almost have seemed that they were. He came for her + several times, alone, in his high “wagon,” drawn by a pair of charming + light-limbed horses. It was different, her having gone with Clifford + Wentworth, who was her cousin, and so much younger. It was not to be + imagined that she should have a flirtation with Clifford, who was a mere + shame-faced boy, and whom a large section of Boston society supposed to be + “engaged” to Lizzie Acton. Not, indeed, that it was to be conceived that + the Baroness was a possible party to any flirtation whatever; for she was + undoubtedly a married lady. It was generally known that her matrimonial + condition was of the “morganatic” order; but in its natural aversion to + suppose that this meant anything less than absolute wedlock, the + conscience of the community took refuge in the belief that it implied + something even more. + </p> + <p> + Acton wished her to think highly of American scenery, and he drove her to + great distances, picking out the prettiest roads and the largest points of + view. If we are good when we are contented, Eugenia’s virtues should now + certainly have been uppermost; for she found a charm in the rapid movement + through a wild country, and in a companion who from time to time made the + vehicle dip, with a motion like a swallow’s flight, over roads of + primitive construction, and who, as she felt, would do a great many things + that she might ask him. Sometimes, for a couple of hours together, there + were almost no houses; there were nothing but woods and rivers and lakes + and horizons adorned with bright-looking mountains. It seemed to the + Baroness very wild, as I have said, and lovely; but the impression added + something to that sense of the enlargement of opportunity which had been + born of her arrival in the New World. + </p> + <p> + One day—it was late in the afternoon—Acton pulled up his + horses on the crest of a hill which commanded a beautiful prospect. He let + them stand a long time to rest, while he sat there and talked with Madame + Münster. The prospect was beautiful in spite of there being nothing + human within sight. There was a wilderness of woods, and the gleam of a + distant river, and a glimpse of half the hill-tops in Massachusetts. The + road had a wide, grassy margin, on the further side of which there flowed + a deep, clear brook; there were wild flowers in the grass, and beside the + brook lay the trunk of a fallen tree. Acton waited a while; at last a + rustic wayfarer came trudging along the road. Acton asked him to hold the + horses—a service he consented to render, as a friendly turn to a + fellow-citizen. Then he invited the Baroness to descend, and the two + wandered away, across the grass, and sat down on the log beside the brook. + </p> + <p> + “I imagine it doesn’t remind you of Silberstadt,” said Acton. It was the + first time that he had mentioned Silberstadt to her, for particular + reasons. He knew she had a husband there, and this was disagreeable to + him; and, furthermore, it had been repeated to him that this husband + wished to put her away—a state of affairs to which even indirect + reference was to be deprecated. It was true, nevertheless, that the + Baroness herself had often alluded to Silberstadt; and Acton had often + wondered why her husband wished to get rid of her. It was a curious + position for a lady—this being known as a repudiated wife; and it is + worthy of observation that the Baroness carried it off with exceeding + grace and dignity. She had made it felt, from the first, that there were + two sides to the question, and that her own side, when she should choose + to present it, would be replete with touching interest. + </p> + <p> + “It does not remind me of the town, of course,” she said, “of the + sculptured gables and the Gothic churches, of the wonderful Schloss, with + its moat and its clustering towers. But it has a little look of some other + parts of the principality. One might fancy one’s self among those grand + old German forests, those legendary mountains; the sort of country one + sees from the windows at Schreckenstein.” + </p> + <p> + “What is Schreckenstein?” asked Acton. + </p> + <p> + “It is a great castle,—the summer residence of the Reigning Prince.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever lived there?” + </p> + <p> + “I have stayed there,” said the Baroness. Acton was silent; he looked a + while at the uncastled landscape before him. “It is the first time you + have ever asked me about Silberstadt,” she said. “I should think you would + want to know about my marriage; it must seem to you very strange.” + </p> + <p> + Acton looked at her a moment. “Now you wouldn’t like me to say that!” + </p> + <p> + “You Americans have such odd ways!” the Baroness declared. “You never ask + anything outright; there seem to be so many things you can’t talk about.” + </p> + <p> + “We Americans are very polite,” said Acton, whose national consciousness + had been complicated by a residence in foreign lands, and who yet disliked + to hear Americans abused. “We don’t like to tread upon people’s toes,” he + said. “But I should like very much to hear about your marriage. Now tell + me how it came about.” + </p> + <p> + “The Prince fell in love with me,” replied the Baroness simply. “He + pressed his suit very hard. At first he didn’t wish me to marry him; on + the contrary. But on that basis I refused to listen to him. So he offered + me marriage—in so far as he might. I was young, and I confess I was + rather flattered. But if it were to be done again now, I certainly should + not accept him.” + </p> + <p> + “How long ago was this?” asked Acton. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—several years,” said Eugenia. “You should never ask a woman for + dates.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I should think that when a woman was relating history “ Acton + answered. “And now he wants to break it off?” + </p> + <p> + “They want him to make a political marriage. It is his brother’s idea. His + brother is very clever.” + </p> + <p> + “They must be a precious pair!” cried Robert Acton. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness gave a little philosophic shrug. “<i>Que voulez-vous?</i> They are + princes. They think they are treating me very well. Silberstadt is a + perfectly despotic little state, and the Reigning Prince may annul the + marriage by a stroke of his pen. But he has promised me, nevertheless, not + to do so without my formal consent.” + </p> + <p> + “And this you have refused?” + </p> + <p> + “Hitherto. It is an indignity, and I have wished at least to make it + difficult for them. But I have a little document in my writing-desk which + I have only to sign and send back to the Prince.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it will be all over?” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness lifted her hand, and dropped it again. “Of course I shall + keep my title; at least, I shall be at liberty to keep it if I choose. And + I suppose I shall keep it. One must have a name. And I shall keep my + pension. It is very small—it is wretchedly small; but it is what I + live on.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have only to sign that paper?” Acton asked. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness looked at him a moment. “Do you urge it?” + </p> + <p> + He got up slowly, and stood with his hands in his pockets. “What do you + gain by not doing it?” + </p> + <p> + “I am supposed to gain this advantage—that if I delay, or temporize, + the Prince may come back to me, may make a stand against his brother. He + is very fond of me, and his brother has pushed him only little by little.” + </p> + <p> + “If he were to come back to you,” said Acton, “would you—would you + take him back?” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness met his eyes; she colored just a little. Then she rose. “I + should have the satisfaction of saying, ‘Now it is my turn. I break with + your Serene Highness!’” + </p> + <p> + They began to walk toward the carriage. “Well,” said Robert Acton, “it’s + a curious story! How did you make his acquaintance?” + </p> + <p> + “I was staying with an old lady—an old Countess—in Dresden. + She had been a friend of my father’s. My father was dead; I was very much + alone. My brother was wandering about the world in a theatrical troupe.” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother ought to have stayed with you,” Acton observed, “and kept + you from putting your trust in princes.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was silent a moment, and then, “He did what he could,” she + said. “He sent me money. The old Countess encouraged the Prince; she was + even pressing. It seems to me,” Madame Münster added, gently, “that—under + the circumstances—I behaved very well.” + </p> + <p> + Acton glanced at her, and made the observation—he had made it before—that + a woman looks the prettier for having unfolded her wrongs or her + sufferings. “Well,” he reflected, audibly, “I should like to see you send + his Serene Highness—somewhere!” + </p> + <p> + Madame Münster stooped and plucked a daisy from the grass. “And not sign + my renunciation?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know—I don’t know,” said Acton. + </p> + <p> + “In one case I should have my revenge; in another case I should have my + liberty.” + </p> + <p> + Acton gave a little laugh as he helped her into the carriage. “At any + rate,” he said, “take good care of that paper.” + </p> + <p> + A couple of days afterward he asked her to come and see his house. The + visit had already been proposed, but it had been put off in consequence of + his mother’s illness. She was a constant invalid, and she had passed these + recent years, very patiently, in a great flowered arm-chair at her bedroom + window. Lately, for some days, she had been unable to see anyone; but now + she was better, and she sent the Baroness a very civil message. Acton had + wished their visitor to come to dinner; but Madame Münster preferred + to begin with a simple call. She had reflected that if she should go to + dinner Mr. Wentworth and his daughters would also be asked, and it had + seemed to her that the peculiar character of the occasion would be best + preserved in a <i>tête-à-tête</i> with her host. Why the occasion should have a + peculiar character she explained to no one. As far as anyone could see, + it was simply very pleasant. Acton came for her and drove her to his door, + an operation which was rapidly performed. His house the Baroness mentally + pronounced a very good one; more articulately, she declared that it was + enchanting. It was large and square and painted brown; it stood in a + well-kept shrubbery, and was approached, from the gate, by a short drive. + It was, moreover, a much more modern dwelling than Mr. Wentworth’s, and + was more redundantly upholstered and expensively ornamented. The Baroness + perceived that her entertainer had analyzed material comfort to a + sufficiently fine point. And then he possessed the most delightful + <i>chinoiseries</i>—trophies of his sojourn in the Celestial Empire: + pagodas of ebony and cabinets of ivory; sculptured monsters, grinning and + leering on chimney-pieces, in front of beautifully figured hand-screens; + porcelain dinner-sets, gleaming behind the glass doors of mahogany + buffets; large screens, in corners, covered with tense silk and + embroidered with mandarins and dragons. These things were scattered all + over the house, and they gave Eugenia a pretext for a complete domiciliary + visit. She liked it, she enjoyed it; she thought it a very nice place. It + had a mixture of the homely and the liberal, and though it was almost a + museum, the large, little-used rooms were as fresh and clean as a + well-kept dairy. Lizzie Acton told her that she dusted all the pagodas and + other curiosities every day with her own hands; and the Baroness answered + that she was evidently a household fairy. Lizzie had not at all the look + of a young lady who dusted things; she wore such pretty dresses and had + such delicate fingers that it was difficult to imagine her immersed in + sordid cares. She came to meet Madame Münster on her arrival, but she + said nothing, or almost nothing, and the Baroness again reflected—she + had had occasion to do so before—that American girls had no manners. + She disliked this little American girl, and she was quite prepared to + learn that she had failed to commend herself to Miss Acton. Lizzie struck + her as positive and explicit almost to pertness; and the idea of her + combining the apparent incongruities of a taste for housework and the + wearing of fresh, Parisian-looking dresses suggested the possession of a + dangerous energy. It was a source of irritation to the Baroness that in + this country it should seem to matter whether a little girl were a trifle + less or a trifle more of a nonentity; for Eugenia had hitherto been + conscious of no moral pressure as regards the appreciation of diminutive + virgins. It was perhaps an indication of Lizzie’s pertness that she very + soon retired and left the Baroness on her brother’s hands. Acton talked a + great deal about his <i>chinoiseries</i>; he knew a good deal about porcelain and + bric-à-brac. The Baroness, in her progress through the house, made, as it + were, a great many stations. She sat down everywhere, confessed to being a + little tired, and asked about the various objects with a curious mixture + of alertness and inattention. If there had been anyone to say it to she + would have declared that she was positively in love with her host; but she + could hardly make this declaration—even in the strictest confidence—to + Acton himself. It gave her, nevertheless, a pleasure that had some of the + charm of unwontedness to feel, with that admirable keenness with which she + was capable of feeling things, that he had a disposition without any + edges; that even his humorous irony always expanded toward the point. + One’s impression of his honesty was almost like carrying a bunch of + flowers; the perfume was most agreeable, but they were occasionally an + inconvenience. One could trust him, at any rate, round all the corners of + the world; and, withal, he was not absolutely simple, which would have + been excess; he was only relatively simple, which was quite enough for the + Baroness. + </p> + <p> + Lizzie reappeared to say that her mother would now be happy to receive + Madame Münster; and the Baroness followed her to Mrs. Acton’s apartment. + Eugenia reflected, as she went, that it was not the affectation of + impertinence that made her dislike this young lady, for on that ground she + could easily have beaten her. It was not an aspiration on the girl’s part + to rivalry, but a kind of laughing, childishly-mocking indifference to the + results of comparison. Mrs. Acton was an emaciated, sweet-faced woman of + five and fifty, sitting with pillows behind her, and looking out on a + clump of hemlocks. She was very modest, very timid, and very ill; she made + Eugenia feel grateful that she herself was not like that—neither so + ill, nor, possibly, so modest. On a chair, beside her, lay a volume of + Emerson’s Essays. It was a great occasion for poor Mrs. Acton, in her + helpless condition, to be confronted with a clever foreign lady, who had + more manner than any lady—any dozen ladies—that she had ever + seen. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard a great deal about you,” she said, softly, to the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “From your son, eh?” Eugenia asked. “He has talked to me immensely of you. + Oh, he talks of you as you would like,” the Baroness declared; “as such a + son <i>must</i> talk of such a mother!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Acton sat gazing; this was part of Madame Münster’s “manner.” But + Robert Acton was gazing too, in vivid consciousness that he had barely + mentioned his mother to their brilliant guest. He never talked of this + still maternal presence,—a presence refined to such delicacy that it + had almost resolved itself, with him, simply into the subjective emotion + of gratitude. And Acton rarely talked of his emotions. The Baroness turned + her smile toward him, and she instantly felt that she had been observed to + be fibbing. She had struck a false note. But who were these people to whom + such fibbing was not pleasing? If they were annoyed, the Baroness was + equally so; and after the exchange of a few civil inquiries and low-voiced + responses she took leave of Mrs. Acton. She begged Robert not to come home + with her; she would get into the carriage alone; she preferred that. This + was imperious, and she thought he looked disappointed. While she stood + before the door with him—the carriage was turning in the gravel-walk—this + thought restored her serenity. + </p> + <p> + When she had given him her hand in farewell she looked at him a moment. “I + have almost decided to dispatch that paper,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He knew that she alluded to the document that she had called her + renunciation; and he assisted her into the carriage without saying + anything. But just before the vehicle began to move he said, “Well, when + you have in fact dispatched it, I hope you will let me know!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Felix Young finished Gertrude’s portrait, and he afterwards transferred to + canvas the features of many members of that circle of which it may be said + that he had become for the time the pivot and the centre. I am afraid it + must be confessed that he was a decidedly flattering painter, and that he + imparted to his models a romantic grace which seemed easily and cheaply + acquired by the payment of a hundred dollars to a young man who made + “sitting” so entertaining. For Felix was paid for his pictures, making, as + he did, no secret of the fact that in guiding his steps to the Western + world affectionate curiosity had gone hand in hand with a desire to better + his condition. He took his uncle’s portrait quite as if Mr. Wentworth had + never averted himself from the experiment; and as he compassed his end + only by the exercise of gentle violence, it is but fair to add that he + allowed the old man to give him nothing but his time. He passed his arm + into Mr. Wentworth’s one summer morning—very few arms indeed had + ever passed into Mr. Wentworth’s—and led him across the garden and + along the road into the studio which he had extemporized in the little + house among the apple trees. The grave gentleman felt himself more and + more fascinated by his clever nephew, whose fresh, demonstrative youth + seemed a compendium of experiences so strangely numerous. It appeared to + him that Felix must know a great deal; he would like to learn what he + thought about some of those things as regards which his own conversation + had always been formal, but his knowledge vague. Felix had a confident, + gayly trenchant way of judging human actions which Mr. Wentworth grew + little by little to envy; it seemed like criticism made easy. Forming an + opinion—say on a person’s conduct—was, with Mr. Wentworth, a + good deal like fumbling in a lock with a key chosen at hazard. He seemed + to himself to go about the world with a big bunch of these ineffectual + instruments at his girdle. His nephew, on the other hand, with a single + turn of the wrist, opened any door as adroitly as a horse-thief. He felt + obliged to keep up the convention that an uncle is always wiser than a + nephew, even if he could keep it up no otherwise than by listening in + serious silence to Felix’s quick, light, constant discourse. But there + came a day when he lapsed from consistency and almost asked his nephew’s + advice. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever entertained the idea of settling in the United States?” he + asked one morning, while Felix brilliantly plied his brush. + </p> + <p> + “My dear uncle,” said Felix, “excuse me if your question makes me smile a + little. To begin with, I have never entertained an idea. Ideas often + entertain <i>me</i>; but I am afraid I have never seriously made a plan. I know + what you are going to say; or rather, I know what you think, for I don’t + think you will say it—that this is very frivolous and loose-minded + on my part. So it is; but I am made like that; I take things as they come, + and somehow there is always some new thing to follow the last. In the + second place, I should never propose to <i>settle</i>. I can’t settle, my dear + uncle; I’m not a settler. I know that is what strangers are supposed to + do here; they always settle. But I haven’t—to answer your question—entertained + that idea.” + </p> + <p> + “You intend to return to Europe and resume your irregular manner of life?” + Mr. Wentworth inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t say I intend. But it’s very likely I shall go back to Europe. + After all, I am a European. I feel that, you know. It will depend a good + deal upon my sister. She’s even more of a European than I; here, you + know, she’s a picture out of her setting. And as for ‘resuming,’ dear + uncle, I really have never given up my irregular manner of life. What, for + me, could be more irregular than this?” + </p> + <p> + “Than what?” asked Mr. Wentworth, with his pale gravity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, than everything! Living in the midst of you, this way; this + charming, quiet, serious family life; fraternizing with Charlotte and + Gertrude; calling upon twenty young ladies and going out to walk with + them; sitting with you in the evening on the piazza and listening to the + crickets, and going to bed at ten o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Your description is very animated,” said Mr. Wentworth; “but I see + nothing improper in what you describe.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I, dear uncle. It is extremely delightful; I shouldn’t like + it if it were improper. I assure you I don’t like improper things; though + I dare say you think I do,” Felix went on, painting away. + </p> + <p> + “I have never accused you of that.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray don’t,” said Felix, “because, you see, at bottom I am a terrible + Philistine.” + </p> + <p> + “A Philistine?” repeated Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “I mean, as one may say, a plain, God-fearing man.” Mr. Wentworth looked + at him reservedly, like a mystified sage, and Felix continued, “I trust I + shall enjoy a venerable and venerated old age. I mean to live long. I can + hardly call that a plan, perhaps; but it’s a keen desire—a rosy + vision. I shall be a lively, perhaps even a frivolous old man!” + </p> + <p> + “It is natural,” said his uncle, sententiously, “that one should desire to + prolong an agreeable life. We have perhaps a selfish indisposition to + bring our pleasure to a close. But I presume,” he added, “that you expect + to marry.” + </p> + <p> + “That too, dear uncle, is a hope, a desire, a vision,” said Felix. It + occurred to him for an instant that this was possibly a preface to the + offer of the hand of one of Mr. Wentworth’s admirable daughters. But in + the name of decent modesty and a proper sense of the hard realities of + this world, Felix banished the thought. His uncle was the incarnation of + benevolence, certainly; but from that to accepting—much more + postulating—the idea of a union between a young lady with a dowry + presumptively brilliant and a penniless artist with no prospect of fame, + there was a very long way. Felix had lately become conscious of a + luxurious preference for the society—if possible unshared with + others—of Gertrude Wentworth; but he had relegated this young lady, + for the moment, to the coldly brilliant category of unattainable + possessions. She was not the first woman for whom he had entertained an + unpractical admiration. He had been in love with duchesses and countesses, + and he had made, once or twice, a perilously near approach to cynicism in + declaring that the disinterestedness of women had been overrated. On the + whole, he had tempered audacity with modesty; and it is but fair to him + now to say explicitly that he would have been incapable of taking + advantage of his present large allowance of familiarity to make love to + the younger of his handsome cousins. Felix had grown up among traditions + in the light of which such a proceeding looked like a grievous breach of + hospitality. I have said that he was always happy, and it may be counted + among the present sources of his happiness that he had as regards this + matter of his relations with Gertrude a deliciously good conscience. His + own deportment seemed to him suffused with the beauty of virtue—a + form of beauty that he admired with the same vivacity with which he + admired all other forms. + </p> + <p> + “I think that if you marry,” said Mr. Wentworth presently, “it will + conduce to your happiness.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Sicurissimo!”</i> Felix exclaimed; and then, arresting his brush, he looked + at his uncle with a smile. “There is something I feel tempted to say to + you. May I risk it?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth drew himself up a little. “I am very safe; I don’t repeat + things.” But he hoped Felix would not risk too much. + </p> + <p> + Felix was laughing at his answer. + </p> + <p> + “It’s odd to hear you telling me how to be happy. I don’t think you know + yourself, dear uncle. Now, does that sound brutal?” + </p> + <p> + The old man was silent a moment, and then, with a dry dignity that + suddenly touched his nephew: “We may sometimes point out a road we are + unable to follow.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, don’t tell me you have had any sorrows,” Felix rejoined. “I didn’t + suppose it, and I didn’t mean to allude to them. I simply meant that you + all don’t amuse yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Amuse ourselves? We are not children.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely not! You have reached the proper age. I was saying that the + other day to Gertrude,” Felix added. “I hope it was not indiscreet.” + </p> + <p> + “If it was,” said Mr. Wentworth, with a keener irony than Felix would have + thought him capable of, “it was but your way of amusing yourself. I am + afraid you have never had a trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I have!” Felix declared, with some spirit; “before I knew + better. But you don’t catch me at it again.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth maintained for a while a silence more expressive than a + deep-drawn sigh. “You have no children,” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t tell me,” Felix exclaimed, “that your charming young people are a + source of grief to you!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t speak of Charlotte.” And then, after a pause, Mr. Wentworth + continued, “I don’t speak of Gertrude. But I feel considerable anxiety + about Clifford. I will tell you another time.” + </p> + <p> + The next time he gave Felix a sitting his nephew reminded him that he had + taken him into his confidence. “How is Clifford today?” Felix asked. “He + has always seemed to me a young man of remarkable discretion. Indeed, he + is only too discreet; he seems on his guard against me—as if he + thought me rather light company. The other day he told his sister—Gertrude + repeated it to me—that I was always laughing at him. If I laugh it + is simply from the impulse to try and inspire him with confidence. That is + the only way I have.” + </p> + <p> + “Clifford’s situation is no laughing matter,” said Mr. Wentworth. “It is + very peculiar, as I suppose you have guessed.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you mean his love affair with his cousin?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth stared, blushing a little. “I mean his absence from college. + He has been suspended. We have decided not to speak of it unless we are + asked.” + </p> + <p> + “Suspended?” Felix repeated. + </p> + <p> + “He has been requested by the Harvard authorities to absent himself for + six months. Meanwhile he is studying with Mr. Brand. We think Mr. Brand + will help him; at least we hope so.” + </p> + <p> + “What befell him at college?” Felix asked. “He was too fond of pleasure? + Mr. Brand certainly will not teach him any of those secrets!” + </p> + <p> + “He was too fond of something of which he should not have been fond. I + suppose it is considered a pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + Felix gave his light laugh. “My dear uncle, is there any doubt about its + being a pleasure? <i>C’est de son âge</i>, as they say in France.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have said rather it was a vice of later life—of + disappointed old age.” + </p> + <p> + Felix glanced at his uncle, with his lifted eyebrows, and then, “Of what + are you speaking?” he demanded, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Of the situation in which Clifford was found.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, he was found—he was caught?” + </p> + <p> + “Necessarily, he was caught. He couldn’t walk; he staggered.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Felix, “he drinks! I rather suspected that, from something I + observed the first day I came here. I quite agree with you that it is a + low taste. It’s not a vice for a gentleman. He ought to give it up.” + </p> + <p> + “We hope for a good deal from Mr. Brand’s influence,” Mr. Wentworth went + on. “He has talked to him from the first. And he never touches anything + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I will talk to him—I will talk to him!” Felix declared, gayly. + </p> + <p> + “What will you say to him?” asked his uncle, with some apprehension. + </p> + <p> + Felix for some moments answered nothing. “Do you mean to marry him to his + cousin?” he asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “Marry him?” echoed Mr. Wentworth. “I shouldn’t think his cousin would + want to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no understanding, then, with Mrs. Acton?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth stared, almost blankly. “I have never discussed such + subjects with her.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think it might be time,” said Felix. “Lizzie Acton is admirably + pretty, and if Clifford is dangerous....” + </p> + <p> + “They are not engaged,” said Mr. Wentworth. “I have no reason to suppose + they are engaged.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Par exemple!”</i> cried Felix. “A clandestine engagement? Trust me, Clifford, + as I say, is a charming boy. He is incapable of that. Lizzie Acton, then, + would not be jealous of another woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly hope not,” said the old man, with a vague sense of jealousy + being an even lower vice than a love of liquor. + </p> + <p> + “The best thing for Clifford, then,” Felix propounded, “is to become + interested in some clever, charming woman.” And he paused in his painting, + and, with his elbows on his knees, looked with bright communicativeness at + his uncle. “You see, I believe greatly in the influence of women. Living + with women helps to make a man a gentleman. It is very true Clifford has + his sisters, who are so charming. But there should be a different + sentiment in play from the fraternal, you know. He has Lizzie Acton; but + she, perhaps, is rather immature.” + </p> + <p> + “I suspect Lizzie has talked to him, reasoned with him,” said Mr. + Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “On the impropriety of getting tipsy—on the beauty of temperance? + That is dreary work for a pretty young girl. No,” Felix continued; + “Clifford ought to frequent some agreeable woman, who, without ever + mentioning such unsavory subjects, would give him a sense of its being + very ridiculous to be fuddled. If he could fall in love with her a little, + so much the better. The thing would operate as a cure.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, what lady should you suggest?” asked Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “There is a clever woman under your hand. My sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Your sister—under my hand?” Mr. Wentworth repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Say a word to Clifford. Tell him to be bold. He is well disposed already; + he has invited her two or three times to drive. But I don’t think he comes + to see her. Give him a hint to come—to come often. He will sit there + of an afternoon, and they will talk. It will do him good.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth meditated. “You think she will exercise a helpful + influence?” + </p> + <p> + “She will exercise a civilizing—I may call it a sobering—influence. + A charming, clever, witty woman always does—especially if she is a + little of a coquette. My dear uncle, the society of such women has been + half my education. If Clifford is suspended, as you say, from college, let + Eugenia be his preceptress.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth continued thoughtful. “You think Eugenia is a coquette?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “What pretty woman is not?” Felix demanded in turn. But this, for Mr. + Wentworth, could at the best have been no answer, for he did not think his + niece pretty. “With Clifford,” the young man pursued, “Eugenia will simply + be enough of a coquette to be a little ironical. That’s what he needs. So + you recommend him to be nice with her, you know. The suggestion will come + best from you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I understand,” asked the old man, “that I am to suggest to my son to + make a—a profession of—of affection to Madame Münster?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes—a profession!” cried Felix sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “But, as I understand it, Madame Münster is a married woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Felix, smiling, “of course she can’t marry him. But she will do + what she can.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth sat for some time with his eyes on the floor; at last he got + up. “I don’t think,” he said, “that I can undertake to recommend my son + any such course.” And without meeting Felix’s surprised glance he broke + off his sitting, which was not resumed for a fortnight. + </p> + <p> + Felix was very fond of the little lake which occupied so many of Mr. + Wentworth’s numerous acres, and of a remarkable pine grove which lay upon + the further side of it, planted upon a steep embankment and haunted by the + summer breeze. The murmur of the air in the far off tree-tops had a + strange distinctness; it was almost articulate. One afternoon the young + man came out of his painting-room and passed the open door of Eugenia’s + little salon. Within, in the cool dimness, he saw his sister, dressed in + white, buried in her arm-chair, and holding to her face an immense + bouquet. Opposite to her sat Clifford Wentworth, twirling his hat. He had + evidently just presented the bouquet to the Baroness, whose fine eyes, as + she glanced at him over the big roses and geraniums, wore a conversational + smile. Felix, standing on the threshold of the cottage, hesitated for a + moment as to whether he should retrace his steps and enter the parlor. + Then he went his way and passed into Mr. Wentworth’s garden. That + civilizing process to which he had suggested that Clifford should be + subjected appeared to have come on of itself. Felix was very sure, at + least, that Mr. Wentworth had not adopted his ingenious device for + stimulating the young man’s aesthetic consciousness. “Doubtless he + supposes,” he said to himself, after the conversation that has been + narrated, “that I desire, out of fraternal benevolence, to procure for + Eugenia the amusement of a flirtation—or, as he probably calls it, + an intrigue—with the too susceptible Clifford. It must be admitted—and + I have noticed it before—that nothing exceeds the license + occasionally taken by the imagination of very rigid people.” Felix, on his + own side, had of course said nothing to Clifford; but he had observed to + Eugenia that Mr. Wentworth was much mortified at his son’s low tastes. “We + ought to do something to help them, after all their kindness to us,” he + had added. “Encourage Clifford to come and see you, and inspire him with a + taste for conversation. That will supplant the other, which only comes + from his puerility, from his not taking his position in the world—that + of a rich young man of ancient stock—seriously enough. Make him a + little more serious. Even if he makes love to you it is no great matter.” + </p> + <p> + “I am to offer myself as a superior form of intoxication—a + substitute for a brandy bottle, eh?” asked the Baroness. “Truly, in this + country one comes to strange uses.” + </p> + <p> + But she had not positively declined to undertake Clifford’s higher + education, and Felix, who had not thought of the matter again, being + haunted with visions of more personal profit, now reflected that the work + of redemption had fairly begun. The idea in prospect had seemed of the + happiest, but in operation it made him a trifle uneasy. “What if Eugenia—what + if Eugenia”—he asked himself softly; the question dying away in his + sense of Eugenia’s undetermined capacity. But before Felix had time either + to accept or to reject its admonition, even in this vague form, he saw + Robert Acton turn out of Mr. Wentworth’s enclosure, by a distant gate, and + come toward the cottage in the orchard. Acton had evidently walked from + his own house along a shady by-way and was intending to pay a visit to + Madame Münster. Felix watched him a moment; then he turned away. Acton + could be left to play the part of Providence and interrupt—if + interruption were needed—Clifford’s entanglement with Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + Felix passed through the garden toward the house and toward a postern gate + which opened upon a path leading across the fields, beside a little wood, + to the lake. He stopped and looked up at the house; his eyes rested more + particularly upon a certain open window, on the shady side. Presently + Gertrude appeared there, looking out into the summer light. He took off + his hat to her and bade her good-day; he remarked that he was going to row + across the pond, and begged that she would do him the honor to accompany + him. She looked at him a moment; then, without saying anything, she turned + away. But she soon reappeared below in one of those quaint and charming + Leghorn hats, tied with white satin bows, that were worn at that period; + she also carried a green parasol. She went with him to the edge of the + lake, where a couple of boats were always moored; they got into one of + them, and Felix, with gentle strokes, propelled it to the opposite shore. + The day was the perfection of summer weather; the little lake was the + color of sunshine; the plash of the oars was the only sound, and they + found themselves listening to it. They disembarked, and, by a winding + path, ascended the pine-crested mound which overlooked the water, whose + white expanse glittered between the trees. The place was delightfully + cool, and had the added charm that—in the softly sounding pine + boughs—you seemed to hear the coolness as well as feel it. Felix and + Gertrude sat down on the rust-colored carpet of pine-needles and talked of + many things. Felix spoke at last, in the course of talk, of his going + away; it was the first time he had alluded to it. + </p> + <p> + “You are going away?” said Gertrude, looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “Some day—when the leaves begin to fall. You know I can’t stay + forever.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude transferred her eyes to the outer prospect, and then, after a + pause, she said, “I shall never see you again.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Felix. “We shall probably both survive my departure.” + </p> + <p> + But Gertrude only repeated, “I shall never see you again. I shall never + hear of you,” she went on. “I shall know nothing about you. I knew nothing + about you before, and it will be the same again.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew nothing about you then, unfortunately,” said Felix. “But now I + shall write to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t write to me. I shall not answer you,” Gertrude declared. + </p> + <p> + “I should of course burn your letters,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at him again. “Burn my letters? You sometimes say strange + things.” + </p> + <p> + “They are not strange in themselves,” the young man answered. “They are + only strange as said to you. You will come to Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “With whom shall I come?” She asked this question simply; she was very + much in earnest. Felix was interested in her earnestness; for some moments + he hesitated. “You can’t tell me that,” she pursued. “You can’t say that I + shall go with my father and my sister; you don’t believe that.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall keep your letters,” said Felix, presently, for all answer. + </p> + <p> + “I never write. I don’t know how to write.” Gertrude, for some time, said + nothing more; and her companion, as he looked at her, wished it had not + been “disloyal” to make love to the daughter of an old gentleman who had + offered one hospitality. The afternoon waned; the shadows stretched + themselves; and the light grew deeper in the western sky. Two persons + appeared on the opposite side of the lake, coming from the house and + crossing the meadow. “It is Charlotte and Mr. Brand,” said Gertrude. “They + are coming over here.” But Charlotte and Mr. Brand only came down to the + edge of the water, and stood there, looking across; they made no motion to + enter the boat that Felix had left at the mooring-place. Felix waved his + hat to them; it was too far to call. They made no visible response, and + they presently turned away and walked along the shore. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Brand is not demonstrative,” said Felix. “He is never demonstrative + to me. He sits silent, with his chin in his hand, looking at me. Sometimes + he looks away. Your father tells me he is so eloquent; and I should like + to hear him talk. He looks like such a noble young man. But with me he + will never talk. And yet I am so fond of listening to brilliant imagery!” + </p> + <p> + “He is very eloquent,” said Gertrude; “but he has no brilliant imagery. I + have heard him talk a great deal. I knew that when they saw us they would + not come over here.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, he is making <i>la cour</i>, as they say, to your sister? They desire to be + alone?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Gertrude, gravely, “they have no such reason as that for being + alone.” + </p> + <p> + “But why doesn’t he make <i>la cour</i> to Charlotte?” Felix inquired. “She is + so pretty, so gentle, so good.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude glanced at him, and then she looked at the distantly-seen couple + they were discussing. Mr. Brand and Charlotte were walking side by side. + They might have been a pair of lovers, and yet they might not. “They think + I should not be here,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “With me? I thought you didn’t have those ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand. There are a great many things you don’t + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand my stupidity. But why, then, do not Charlotte and Mr. Brand, + who, as an elder sister and a clergyman, are free to walk about together, + come over and make me wiser by breaking up the unlawful interview into + which I have lured you?” + </p> + <p> + “That is the last thing they would do,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + Felix stared at her a moment, with his lifted eyebrows. <i>“Je n’y comprends + rien!”</i> he exclaimed; then his eyes followed for a while the retreating + figures of this critical pair. “You may say what you please,” he declared; + “it is evident to me that your sister is not indifferent to her clever + companion. It is agreeable to her to be walking there with him. I can see + that from here.” And in the excitement of observation Felix rose to his + feet. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude rose also, but she made no attempt to emulate her companion’s + discovery; she looked rather in another direction. Felix’s words had + struck her; but a certain delicacy checked her. “She is certainly not + indifferent to Mr. Brand; she has the highest opinion of him.” + </p> + <p> + “One can see it—one can see it,” said Felix, in a tone of amused + contemplation, with his head on one side. Gertrude turned her back to the + opposite shore; it was disagreeable to her to look, but she hoped Felix + would say something more. “Ah, they have wandered away into the wood,” he + added. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude turned round again. “She is <i>not</i> in love with him,” she said; it + seemed her duty to say that. + </p> + <p> + “Then he is in love with her; or if he is not, he ought to be. She is such + a perfect little woman of her kind. She reminds me of a pair of + old-fashioned silver sugar-tongs; you know I am very fond of sugar. And + she is very nice with Mr. Brand; I have noticed that; very gentle and + gracious.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude reflected a moment. Then she took a great resolution. “She wants + him to marry me,” she said. “So of course she is nice.” + </p> + <p> + Felix’s eyebrows rose higher than ever. “To marry you! Ah, ah, this is + interesting. And you think one must be very nice with a man to induce him + to do that?” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had turned a little pale, but she went on, “Mr. Brand wants it + himself.” + </p> + <p> + Felix folded his arms and stood looking at her. “I see—I see,” he + said quickly. “Why did you never tell me this before?” + </p> + <p> + “It is disagreeable to me to speak of it even now. I wished simply to + explain to you about Charlotte.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t wish to marry Mr. Brand, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Gertrude, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “And does your father wish it?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don’t like him—you have refused him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wish to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “Your father and sister think you ought to, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a long story,” said Gertrude. “They think there are good reasons. I + can’t explain it. They think I have obligations, and that I have + encouraged him.” + </p> + <p> + Felix smiled at her, as if she had been telling him an amusing story about + someone else. “I can’t tell you how this interests me,” he said. “Now you + don’t recognize these reasons—these obligations?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure; it is not easy.” And she picked up her parasol and turned + away, as if to descend the slope. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me this,” Felix went on, going with her: “are you likely to give in—to + let them persuade you?” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at him with the serious face that she had constantly worn, + in opposition to his almost eager smile. “I shall never marry Mr. Brand,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “I see!” Felix rejoined. And they slowly descended the hill together, + saying nothing till they reached the margin of the pond. “It is your own + affair,” he then resumed; “but do you know, I am not altogether glad? If + it were settled that you were to marry Mr. Brand I should take a certain + comfort in the arrangement. I should feel more free. I have no right to + make love to you myself, eh?” And he paused, lightly pressing his argument + upon her. + </p> + <p> + “None whatever,” replied Gertrude quickly—too quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Your father would never hear of it; I haven’t a penny. Mr. Brand, of + course, has property of his own, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe he has some property; but that has nothing to do with it.” + </p> + <p> + “With you, of course not; but with your father and sister it must have. + So, as I say, if this were settled, I should feel more at liberty.” + </p> + <p> + “More at liberty?” Gertrude repeated. “Please unfasten the boat.” + </p> + <p> + Felix untwisted the rope and stood holding it. “I should be able to say + things to you that I can’t give myself the pleasure of saying now,” he + went on. “I could tell you how much I admire you, without seeming to + pretend to that which I have no right to pretend to. I should make violent + love to you,” he added, laughing, “if I thought you were so placed as not + to be offended by it.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean if I were engaged to another man? That is strange reasoning!” + Gertrude exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “In that case you would not take me seriously.” + </p> + <p> + “I take everyone seriously,” said Gertrude. And without his help she + stepped lightly into the boat. + </p> + <p> + Felix took up the oars and sent it forward. “Ah, this is what you have + been thinking about? It seemed to me you had something on your mind. I + wish very much,” he added, “that you would tell me some of these so-called + reasons—these obligations.” + </p> + <p> + “They are not real reasons—good reasons,” said Gertrude, looking at + the pink and yellow gleams in the water. + </p> + <p> + “I can understand that! Because a handsome girl has had a spark of + coquetry, that is no reason.” + </p> + <p> + “If you mean me, it’s not that. I have not done that.” + </p> + <p> + “It is something that troubles you, at any rate,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Not so much as it used to,” Gertrude rejoined. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, smiling always. “That is not saying much, eh?” But she + only rested her eyes, very gravely, on the lighted water. She seemed to + him to be trying to hide the signs of the trouble of which she had just + told him. Felix felt, at all times, much the same impulse to dissipate + visible melancholy that a good housewife feels to brush away dust. There + was something he wished to brush away now; suddenly he stopped rowing and + poised his oars. “Why should Mr. Brand have addressed himself to you, and + not to your sister?” he asked. “I am sure she would listen to him.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude, in her family, was thought capable of a good deal of levity; but + her levity had never gone so far as this. It moved her greatly, however, + to hear Felix say that he was sure of something; so that, raising her eyes + toward him, she tried intently, for some moments, to conjure up this + wonderful image of a love-affair between her own sister and her own + suitor. We know that Gertrude had an imaginative mind; so that it is not + impossible that this effort should have been partially successful. But she + only murmured, “Ah, Felix! ah, Felix!” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t they marry? Try and make them marry!” cried Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Try and make them?” + </p> + <p> + “Turn the tables on them. Then they will leave you alone. I will help you + as far as I can.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude’s heart began to beat; she was greatly excited; she had never had + anything so interesting proposed to her before. Felix had begun to row + again, and he now sent the boat home with long strokes. “I believe she + <i>does</i> care for him!” said Gertrude, after they had disembarked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course she does, and we will marry them off. It will make them happy; + it will make everyone happy. We shall have a wedding and I will write an + epithalamium.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems as if it would make <i>me</i> happy,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “To get rid of Mr. Brand, eh? To recover your liberty?” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude walked on. “To see my sister married to so good a man.” + </p> + <p> + Felix gave his light laugh. “You always put things on those grounds; you + will never say anything for yourself. You are all so afraid, here, of + being selfish. I don’t think you know how,” he went on. “Let me show you! + It will make me happy for myself, and for just the reverse of what I told + you a while ago. After that, when I make love to you, you will have to + think I mean it.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never think you mean anything,” said Gertrude. “You are too + fantastic.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” cried Felix, “that’s a license to say everything! Gertrude, I adore + you!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + Charlotte and Mr. Brand had not returned when they reached the house; but + the Baroness had come to tea, and Robert Acton also, who now regularly + asked for a place at this generous repast or made his appearance later in + the evening. Clifford Wentworth, with his juvenile growl, remarked upon + it. + </p> + <p> + “You are always coming to tea nowadays, Robert,” he said. “I should think + you had drunk enough tea in China.” + </p> + <p> + “Since when is Mr. Acton more frequent?” asked the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Since you came,” said Clifford. “It seems as if you were a kind of + attraction.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I am a curiosity,” said the Baroness. “Give me time and I will + make you a salon.” + </p> + <p> + “It would fall to pieces after you go!” exclaimed Acton. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk about her going, in that familiar way,” Clifford said. “It + makes me feel gloomy.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth glanced at his son, and taking note of these words, wondered + if Felix had been teaching him, according to the programme he had sketched + out, to make love to the wife of a German prince. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte came in late with Mr. Brand; but Gertrude, to whom, at least, + Felix had taught something, looked in vain, in her face, for the traces of + a guilty passion. Mr. Brand sat down by Gertrude, and she presently asked + him why they had not crossed the pond to join Felix and herself. + </p> + <p> + “It is cruel of you to ask me that,” he answered, very softly. He had a + large morsel of cake before him; but he fingered it without eating it. “I + sometimes think you are growing cruel,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude said nothing; she was afraid to speak. There was a kind of rage + in her heart; she felt as if she could easily persuade herself that she + was persecuted. She said to herself that it was quite right that she + should not allow him to make her believe she was wrong. She thought of + what Felix had said to her; she wished indeed Mr. Brand would marry + Charlotte. She looked away from him and spoke no more. Mr. Brand ended by + eating his cake, while Felix sat opposite, describing to Mr. Wentworth the + students’ duels at Heidelberg. After tea they all dispersed themselves, as + usual, upon the piazza and in the garden; and Mr. Brand drew near to + Gertrude again. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t come to you this afternoon because you were not alone,” he + began; “because you were with a newer friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Felix? He is an old friend by this time.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand looked at the ground for some moments. “I thought I was prepared + to hear you speak in that way,” he resumed. “But I find it very painful.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see what else I can say,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand walked beside her for a while in silence; Gertrude wished he + would go away. “He is certainly very accomplished. But I think I ought to + advise you.” + </p> + <p> + “To advise me?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I know your nature.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you don’t,” said Gertrude, with a soft laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You make yourself out worse than you are—to please him,” Mr. Brand + said, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Worse—to please him? What do you mean?” asked Gertrude, stopping. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand stopped also, and with the same soft straight-forwardness, “He + doesn’t care for the things you care for—the great questions of + life.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude, with her eyes on his, shook her head. “I don’t care for the + great questions of life. They are much beyond me.” + </p> + <p> + “There was a time when you didn’t say that,” said Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” rejoined Gertrude, “I think you made me talk a great deal of + nonsense. And it depends,” she added, “upon what you call the great + questions of life. There are some things I care for.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they the things you talk about with your cousin?” + </p> + <p> + “You should not say things to me against my cousin, Mr. Brand,” said + Gertrude. “That is dishonorable.” + </p> + <p> + He listened to this respectfully; then he answered, with a little + vibration of the voice, “I should be very sorry to do anything + dishonorable. But I don’t see why it is dishonorable to say that your + cousin is frivolous.” + </p> + <p> + “Go and say it to himself!” + </p> + <p> + “I think he would admit it,” said Mr. Brand. “That is the tone he would + take. He would not be ashamed of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am not ashamed of it!” Gertrude declared. “That is probably what I + like him for. I am frivolous myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You are trying, as I said just now, to lower yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am trying for once to be natural!” cried Gertrude passionately. “I have + been pretending, all my life; I have been dishonest; it is you that have + made me so!” Mr. Brand stood gazing at her, and she went on, “Why + shouldn’t I be frivolous, if I want? One has a right to be frivolous, if it’s + one’s nature. No, I don’t care for the great questions. I care for + pleasure—for amusement. Perhaps I am fond of wicked things; it is + very possible!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand remained staring; he was even a little pale, as if he had been + frightened. “I don’t think you know what you are saying!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not. Perhaps I am talking nonsense. But it is only with you that + I talk nonsense. I never do so with my cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “I will speak to you again, when you are less excited,” said Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “I am always excited when you speak to me. I must tell you that—even + if it prevents you altogether, in future. Your speaking to me irritates + me. With my cousin it is very different. That seems quiet and natural.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, and then he looked away, with a kind of helpless + distress, at the dusky garden and the faint summer stars. After which, + suddenly turning back, “Gertrude, Gertrude!” he softly groaned. “Am I + really losing you?” + </p> + <p> + She was touched—she was pained; but it had already occurred to her + that she might do something better than say so. It would not have + alleviated her companion’s distress to perceive, just then, whence she had + sympathetically borrowed this ingenuity. “I am not sorry for you,” + Gertrude said; “for in paying so much attention to me you are following a + shadow—you are wasting something precious. There is something else + you might have that you don’t look at—something better than I am. + That is a reality!” And then, with intention, she looked at him and tried + to smile a little. He thought this smile of hers very strange; but she + turned away and left him. + </p> + <p> + She wandered about alone in the garden wondering what Mr. Brand would make + of her words, which it had been a singular pleasure for her to utter. + Shortly after, passing in front of the house, she saw at a distance two + persons standing near the garden gate. It was Mr. Brand going away and + bidding good-night to Charlotte, who had walked down with him from the + house. Gertrude saw that the parting was prolonged. Then she turned her + back upon it. She had not gone very far, however, when she heard her + sister slowly following her. She neither turned round nor waited for her; + she knew what Charlotte was going to say. Charlotte, who at last overtook + her, in fact presently began; she had passed her arm into Gertrude’s. + </p> + <p> + “Will you listen to me, dear, if I say something very particular?” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you are going to say,” said Gertrude. “Mr. Brand feels very + badly.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Gertrude, how can you treat him so?” Charlotte demanded. And as her + sister made no answer she added, “After all he has done for you!” + </p> + <p> + “What has he done for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder you can ask, Gertrude. He has helped you so. You told me so + yourself, a great many times. You told me that he helped you to struggle + with your—your peculiarities. You told me that he had taught you how + to govern your temper.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Gertrude said nothing. Then, “Was my temper very bad?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am not accusing you, Gertrude,” said Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing, then?” her sister demanded, with a short laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I am pleading for Mr. Brand—reminding you of all you owe him.” + </p> + <p> + “I have given it all back,” said Gertrude, still with her little laugh. + “He can take back the virtue he imparted! I want to be wicked again.” + </p> + <p> + Her sister made her stop in the path, and fixed upon her, in the darkness, + a sweet, reproachful gaze. “If you talk this way I shall almost believe + it. Think of all we owe Mr. Brand. Think of how he has always expected + something of you. Think how much he has been to us. Think of his beautiful + influence upon Clifford.” + </p> + <p> + “He is very good,” said Gertrude, looking at her sister. “I know he is + very good. But he shouldn’t speak against Felix.” + </p> + <p> + “Felix is good,” Charlotte answered, softly but promptly. “Felix is very + wonderful. Only he is so different. Mr. Brand is much nearer to us. I + should never think of going to Felix with a trouble—with a question. + Mr. Brand is much more to us, Gertrude.” + </p> + <p> + “He is very—very good,” Gertrude repeated. “He is more to you; yes, + much more. Charlotte,” she added suddenly, “you are in love with him!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Gertrude!” cried poor Charlotte; and her sister saw her blushing in + the darkness. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude put her arm round her. “I wish he would marry you!” she went on. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte shook herself free. “You must not say such things!” she + exclaimed, beneath her breath. + </p> + <p> + “You like him more than you say, and he likes you more than he knows.” + </p> + <p> + “This is very cruel of you!” Charlotte Wentworth murmured. + </p> + <p> + But if it was cruel Gertrude continued pitiless. “Not if it’s true,” she + answered. “I wish he would marry you.” + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t say that.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean to tell him so!” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Gertrude, Gertrude!” her sister almost moaned. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if he speaks to me again about myself. I will say, ‘Why don’t you + marry Charlotte? She’s a thousand times better than I.’” + </p> + <p> + “You <i>are</i> wicked; you <i>are</i> changed!” cried her sister. + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t like it you can prevent it,” said Gertrude. “You can prevent + it by keeping him from speaking to me!” And with this she walked away, + very conscious of what she had done; measuring it and finding a certain + joy and a quickened sense of freedom in it. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth was rather wide of the mark in suspecting that Clifford had + begun to pay unscrupulous compliments to his brilliant cousin; for the + young man had really more scruples than he received credit for in his + family. He had a certain transparent shamefacedness which was in itself a + proof that he was not at his ease in dissipation. His collegiate + peccadilloes had aroused a domestic murmur as disagreeable to the young + man as the creaking of his boots would have been to a house-breaker. Only, + as the house-breaker would have simplified matters by removing his + <i>chaussures</i>, it had seemed to Clifford that the shortest cut to comfortable + relations with people—relations which should make him cease to think + that when they spoke to him they meant something improving—was to + renounce all ambition toward a nefarious development. And, in fact, + Clifford’s ambition took the most commendable form. He thought of himself + in the future as the well-known and much-liked Mr. Wentworth, of Boston, + who should, in the natural course of prosperity, have married his pretty + cousin, Lizzie Acton; should live in a wide-fronted house, in view of the + Common; and should drive, behind a light wagon, over the damp autumn + roads, a pair of beautifully matched sorrel horses. Clifford’s vision of + the coming years was very simple; its most definite features were this + element of familiar matrimony and the duplication of his resources for + trotting. He had not yet asked his cousin to marry him; but he meant to do + so as soon as he had taken his degree. Lizzie was serenely conscious of + his intention, and she had made up her mind that he would improve. Her + brother, who was very fond of this light, quick, competent little Lizzie, + saw on his side no reason to interpose. It seemed to him a graceful social + law that Clifford and his sister should become engaged; he himself was not + engaged, but everyone else, fortunately, was not such a fool as he. He + was fond of Clifford, as well, and had his own way—of which it must + be confessed he was a little ashamed—of looking at those aberrations + which had led to the young man’s compulsory retirement from the + neighboring seat of learning. Acton had seen the world, as he said to + himself; he had been to China and had knocked about among men. He had + learned the essential difference between a nice young fellow and a mean + young fellow, and was satisfied that there was no harm in Clifford. He + believed—although it must be added that he had not quite the courage + to declare it—in the doctrine of wild oats, and thought it a useful + preventive of superfluous fears. If Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte and Mr. + Brand would only apply it in Clifford’s case, they would be happier; and + Acton thought it a pity they should not be happier. They took the boy’s + misdemeanors too much to heart; they talked to him too solemnly; they + frightened and bewildered him. Of course there was the great standard of + morality, which forbade that a man should get tipsy, play at billiards for + money, or cultivate his sensual consciousness; but what fear was there + that poor Clifford was going to run a tilt at any great standard? It had, + however, never occurred to Acton to dedicate the Baroness Münster to the + redemption of a refractory collegian. The instrument, here, would have + seemed to him quite too complex for the operation. Felix, on the other + hand, had spoken in obedience to the belief that the more charming a woman + is the more numerous, literally, are her definite social uses. + </p> + <p> + Eugenia herself, as we know, had plenty of leisure to enumerate her uses. + As I have had the honor of intimating, she had come four thousand miles to + seek her fortune; and it is not to be supposed that after this great + effort she could neglect any apparent aid to advancement. It is my + misfortune that in attempting to describe in a short compass the + deportment of this remarkable woman I am obliged to express things rather + brutally. I feel this to be the case, for instance, when I say that she + had primarily detected such an aid to advancement in the person of Robert + Acton, but that she had afterwards remembered that a prudent archer has + always a second bowstring. Eugenia was a woman of finely-mingled motive, + and her intentions were never sensibly gross. She had a sort of aesthetic + ideal for Clifford which seemed to her a disinterested reason for taking + him in hand. It was very well for a fresh-colored young gentleman to be + ingenuous; but Clifford, really, was crude. With such a pretty face he + ought to have prettier manners. She would teach him that, with a beautiful + name, the expectation of a large property, and, as they said in Europe, a + social position, an only son should know how to carry himself. + </p> + <p> + Once Clifford had begun to come and see her by himself and for himself, he + came very often. He hardly knew why he should come; he saw her almost + every evening at his father’s house; he had nothing particular to say to + her. She was not a young girl, and fellows of his age called only upon + young girls. He exaggerated her age; she seemed to him an old woman; it + was happy that the Baroness, with all her intelligence, was incapable of + guessing this. But gradually it struck Clifford that visiting old women + might be, if not a natural, at least, as they say of some articles of + diet, an acquired taste. The Baroness was certainly a very amusing old + woman; she talked to him as no lady—and indeed no gentleman—had + ever talked to him before. + </p> + <p> + “You should go to Europe and make the tour,” she said to him one + afternoon. “Of course, on leaving college you will go.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to go,” Clifford declared. “I know some fellows who have + been to Europe. They say you can have better fun here.” + </p> + <p> + “That depends. It depends upon your idea of fun. Your friends probably + were not introduced.” + </p> + <p> + “Introduced?” Clifford demanded. + </p> + <p> + “They had no opportunity of going into society; they formed no <i>relations</i>.” + This was one of a certain number of words that the Baroness often + pronounced in the French manner. + </p> + <p> + “They went to a ball, in Paris; I know that,” said Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there are balls and balls; especially in Paris. No, you must go, you + know; it is not a thing from which you can dispense yourself. You need + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m very well,” said Clifford. “I’m not sick.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean for your health, my poor child. I mean for your manners.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t got any manners!” growled Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. You don’t mind my assenting to that, eh?” asked the Baroness + with a smile. “You must go to Europe and get a few. You can get them + better there. It is a pity you might not have come while I was living in—in + Germany. I would have introduced you; I had a charming little circle. You + would perhaps have been rather young; but the younger one begins, I think, + the better. Now, at any rate, you have no time to lose, and when I return + you must immediately come to me.” + </p> + <p> + All this, to Clifford’s apprehension, was a great mixture—his + beginning young, Eugenia’s return to Europe, his being introduced to her + charming little circle. What was he to begin, and what was her little + circle? His ideas about her marriage had a good deal of vagueness; but + they were in so far definite as that he felt it to be a matter not to be + freely mentioned. He sat and looked all round the room; he supposed she + was alluding in some way to her marriage. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t want to go to Germany,” he said; it seemed to him the most + convenient thing to say. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him a while, smiling with her lips, but not with her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You have scruples?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Scruples?” said Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “You young people, here, are very singular; one doesn’t know where to + expect you. When you are not extremely improper you are so terribly + proper. I dare say you think that, owing to my irregular marriage, I live + with loose people. You were never more mistaken. I have been all the more + particular.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Clifford, honestly distressed. “I never thought such a + thing as that.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you very sure? I am convinced that your father does, and your + sisters. They say to each other that here I am on my good behavior, but + that over there—married by the left hand—I associate with + light women.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” cried Clifford, energetically, “they don’t say such things as + that to each other!” + </p> + <p> + “If they think them they had better say them,” the Baroness rejoined. + “Then they can be contradicted. Please contradict that whenever you hear + it, and don’t be afraid of coming to see me on account of the company I + keep. I have the honor of knowing more distinguished men, my poor child, + than you are likely to see in a life-time. I see very few women; but those + are women of rank. So, my dear young Puritan, you needn’t be afraid. I am + not in the least one of those who think that the society of women who have + lost their place in the <i>vrai monde</i> is necessary to form a young man. I + have never taken that tone. I have kept my place myself, and I think we + are a much better school than the others. Trust me, Clifford, and I will + prove that to you,” the Baroness continued, while she made the agreeable + reflection that she could not, at least, be accused of perverting her + young kinsman. “So if you ever fall among thieves don’t go about saying I + sent you to them.” + </p> + <p> + Clifford thought it so comical that he should know—in spite of her + figurative language—what she meant, and that she should mean what he + knew, that he could hardly help laughing a little, although he tried hard. + “Oh, no! oh, no!” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Laugh out, laugh out, if I amuse you!” cried the Baroness. “I am here for + that!” And Clifford thought her a very amusing person indeed. “But + remember,” she said on this occasion, “that you are coming—next year—to + pay me a visit over there.” + </p> + <p> + About a week afterwards she said to him, point-blank, “Are you seriously + making love to your little cousin?” + </p> + <p> + “Seriously making love”—these words, on Madame Münster’s lips, had + to Clifford’s sense a portentous and embarrassing sound; he hesitated + about assenting, lest he should commit himself to more than he understood. + “Well, I shouldn’t say it if I was!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Why wouldn’t you say it?” the Baroness demanded. “Those things ought to + be known.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care whether it is known or not,” Clifford rejoined. “But I don’t + want people looking at me.” + </p> + <p> + “A young man of your importance ought to learn to bear observation—to + carry himself as if he were quite indifferent to it. I won’t say, exactly, + unconscious,” the Baroness explained. “No, he must seem to know he is + observed, and to think it natural he should be; but he must appear + perfectly used to it. Now you haven’t that, Clifford; you haven’t that + at all. You must have that, you know. Don’t tell me you are not a young + man of importance,” Eugenia added. “Don’t say anything so flat as that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, you don’t catch me saying that!” cried Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you must come to Germany,” Madame Münster continued. “I will show + you how people can be talked about, and yet not seem to know it. You will + be talked about, of course, with me; it will be said you are my lover. I + will show you how little one may mind that—how little I shall mind + it.” + </p> + <p> + Clifford sat staring, blushing and laughing. “I shall mind it a good + deal!” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, not too much, you know; that would be uncivil. But I give you leave + to mind it a little; especially if you have a passion for Miss Acton. + <i>Voyons</i>; as regards that, you either have or you have not. It is very + simple to say it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why you want to know,” said Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to want me to know. If one is arranging a marriage, one tells + one’s friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m not arranging anything,” said Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t intend to marry your cousin?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I expect I shall do as I choose!” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness leaned her head upon the back of her chair and closed her + eyes, as if she were tired. Then opening them again, “Your cousin is very + charming!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “She is the prettiest girl in this place,” Clifford rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “‘In this place’ is saying little; she would be charming anywhere. I am + afraid you are entangled.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I’m not entangled.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you engaged? At your age that is the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + Clifford looked at the Baroness with some audacity. “Will you tell no + one?” + </p> + <p> + “If it’s as sacred as that—no.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—we are not!” said Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the great secret—that you are not, eh?” asked the Baroness, + with a quick laugh. “I am very glad to hear it. You are altogether too + young. A young man in your position must choose and compare; he must see + the world first. Depend upon it,” she added, “you should not settle that + matter before you have come abroad and paid me that visit. There are + several things I should like to call your attention to first.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am rather afraid of that visit,” said Clifford. “It seems to me + it will be rather like going to school again.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness looked at him a moment. + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” she said, “there is no agreeable man who has not, at some + moment, been to school to a clever woman—probably a little older + than himself. And you must be thankful when you get your instructions + gratis. With me you would get it gratis.” + </p> + <p> + The next day Clifford told Lizzie Acton that the Baroness thought her the + most charming girl she had ever seen. + </p> + <p> + Lizzie shook her head. “No, she doesn’t!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think everything she says,” asked Clifford, “is to be taken the + opposite way?” + </p> + <p> + “I think that is!” said Lizzie. + </p> + <p> + Clifford was going to remark that in this case the Baroness must desire + greatly to bring about a marriage between Mr. Clifford Wentworth and Miss + Elizabeth Acton; but he resolved, on the whole, to suppress this + observation. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + It seemed to Robert Acton, after Eugenia had come to his house, that + something had passed between them which made them a good deal more + intimate. It was hard to say exactly what, except her telling him that she + had taken her resolution with regard to the Prince Adolf; for Madame + Münster’s visit had made no difference in their relations. He came to see + her very often; but he had come to see her very often before. It was + agreeable to him to find himself in her little drawing-room; but this was + not a new discovery. There was a change, however, in this sense: that if + the Baroness had been a great deal in Acton’s thoughts before, she was now + never out of them. From the first she had been personally fascinating; but + the fascination now had become intellectual as well. He was constantly + pondering her words and motions; they were as interesting as the factors + in an algebraic problem. This is saying a good deal; for Acton was + extremely fond of mathematics. He asked himself whether it could be that + he was in love with her, and then hoped he was not; hoped it not so much + for his own sake as for that of the amatory passion itself. If this was + love, love had been overrated. Love was a poetic impulse, and his own + state of feeling with regard to the Baroness was largely characterized by + that eminently prosaic sentiment—curiosity. It was true, as Acton + with his quietly cogitative habit observed to himself, that curiosity, + pushed to a given point, might become a romantic passion; and he certainly + thought enough about this charming woman to make him restless and even a + little melancholy. It puzzled and vexed him at times to feel that he was + not more ardent. He was not in the least bent upon remaining a bachelor. + In his younger years he had been—or he had tried to be—of the + opinion that it would be a good deal “jollier” not to marry, and he had + flattered himself that his single condition was something of a citadel. It + was a citadel, at all events, of which he had long since leveled the + outworks. He had removed the guns from the ramparts; he had lowered the + draw-bridge across the moat. The draw-bridge had swayed lightly under + Madame Münster’s step; why should he not cause it to be raised again, so + that she might be kept prisoner? He had an idea that she would become—in + time at least, and on learning the conveniences of the place for making a + lady comfortable—a tolerably patient captive. But the draw-bridge + was never raised, and Acton’s brilliant visitor was as free to depart as + she had been to come. It was part of his curiosity to know why the deuce + so susceptible a man was <i>not</i> in love with so charming a woman. If her + various graces were, as I have said, the factors in an algebraic problem, + the answer to this question was the indispensable unknown quantity. The + pursuit of the unknown quantity was extremely absorbing; for the present + it taxed all Acton’s faculties. + </p> + <p> + Toward the middle of August he was obliged to leave home for some days; an + old friend, with whom he had been associated in China, had begged him to + come to Newport, where he lay extremely ill. His friend got better, and at + the end of a week Acton was released. I use the word “released” advisedly; + for in spite of his attachment to his Chinese comrade he had been but a + half-hearted visitor. He felt as if he had been called away from the + theatre during the progress of a remarkably interesting drama. The curtain + was up all this time, and he was losing the fourth act; that fourth act + which would have been so essential to a just appreciation of the fifth. In + other words, he was thinking about the Baroness, who, seen at this + distance, seemed a truly brilliant figure. He saw at Newport a great many + pretty women, who certainly were figures as brilliant as beautiful light + dresses could make them; but though they talked a great deal—and the + Baroness’s strong point was perhaps also her conversation—Madame + Münster appeared to lose nothing by the comparison. He wished she had come + to Newport too. Would it not be possible to make up, as they said, a party + for visiting the famous watering-place and invite Eugenia to join it? It + was true that the complete satisfaction would be to spend a fortnight at + Newport with Eugenia alone. It would be a great pleasure to see her, in + society, carry everything before her, as he was sure she would do. When + Acton caught himself thinking these thoughts he began to walk up and down, + with his hands in his pockets, frowning a little and looking at the floor. + What did it prove—for it certainly proved something—this + lively disposition to be “off” somewhere with Madame Münster, away from + all the rest of them? Such a vision, certainly, seemed a refined + implication of matrimony, after the Baroness should have formally got rid + of her informal husband. At any rate, Acton, with his characteristic + discretion, forbore to give expression to whatever else it might imply, + and the narrator of these incidents is not obliged to be more definite. + </p> + <p> + He returned home rapidly, and, arriving in the afternoon, lost as little + time as possible in joining the familiar circle at Mr. Wentworth’s. On + reaching the house, however, he found the piazzas empty. The doors and + windows were open, and their emptiness was made clear by the shafts of + lamp-light from the parlors. Entering the house, he found Mr. Wentworth + sitting alone in one of these apartments, engaged in the perusal of the + <i>North American Review</i>. After they had exchanged greetings and his cousin + had made discreet inquiry about his journey, Acton asked what had become + of Mr. Wentworth’s companions. + </p> + <p> + “They are scattered about, amusing themselves as usual,” said the old man. + “I saw Charlotte, a short time since, seated, with Mr. Brand, upon the + piazza. They were conversing with their customary animation. I suppose + they have joined her sister, who, for the hundredth time, was doing the + honors of the garden to her foreign cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you mean Felix,” said Acton. And on Mr. Wentworth’s assenting, + he said, “And the others?” + </p> + <p> + “Your sister has not come this evening. You must have seen her at home,” + said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I proposed to her to come. She declined.” + </p> + <p> + “Lizzie, I suppose, was expecting a visitor,” said the old man, with a + kind of solemn slyness. + </p> + <p> + “If she was expecting Clifford, he had not turned up.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth, at this intelligence, closed the <i>North American Review</i> + and remarked that he had understood Clifford to say that he was going to + see his cousin. Privately, he reflected that if Lizzie Acton had had no + news of his son, Clifford must have gone to Boston for the evening: an + unnatural course of a summer night, especially when accompanied with + disingenuous representations. + </p> + <p> + “You must remember that he has two cousins,” said Acton, laughing. And + then, coming to the point, “If Lizzie is not here,” he added, “neither + apparently is the Baroness.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth stared a moment, and remembered that queer proposition of + Felix’s. For a moment he did not know whether it was not to be wished that + Clifford, after all, might have gone to Boston. “The Baroness has not + honored us tonight,” he said. “She has not come over for three days.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she ill?” Acton asked. + </p> + <p> + “No; I have been to see her.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Wentworth, “I infer she has tired of us.” + </p> + <p> + Acton pretended to sit down, but he was restless; he found it impossible + to talk with Mr. Wentworth. At the end of ten minutes he took up his hat + and said that he thought he would “go off.” It was very late; it was ten + o’clock. + </p> + <p> + His quiet-faced kinsman looked at him a moment. “Are you going home?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + Acton hesitated, and then answered that he had proposed to go over and + take a look at the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are honest, at least,” said Mr. Wentworth, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “So are you, if you come to that!” cried Acton, laughing. “Why shouldn’t + I be honest?” + </p> + <p> + The old man opened the <i>North American</i> again, and read a few lines. “If + we have ever had any virtue among us, we had better keep hold of it now,” + he said. He was not quoting. + </p> + <p> + “We have a Baroness among us,” said Acton. “That’s what we must keep hold + of!” He was too impatient to see Madame Münster again to wonder what Mr. + Wentworth was talking about. Nevertheless, after he had passed out of the + house and traversed the garden and the little piece of road that separated + him from Eugenia’s provisional residence, he stopped a moment outside. He + stood in her little garden; the long window of her parlor was open, and he + could see the white curtains, with the lamp-light shining through them, + swaying softly to and fro in the warm night wind. There was a sort of + excitement in the idea of seeing Madame Münster again; he became aware + that his heart was beating rather faster than usual. It was this that made + him stop, with a half-amused surprise. But in a moment he went along the + piazza, and, approaching the open window, tapped upon its lintel with his + stick. He could see the Baroness within; she was standing in the middle of + the room. She came to the window and pulled aside the curtain; then she + stood looking at him a moment. She was not smiling; she seemed serious. + </p> + <p> + <i>“Mais entrez donc!”</i> she said at last. Acton passed in across the + window-sill; he wondered, for an instant, what was the matter with her. + But the next moment she had begun to smile and had put out her hand. + “Better late than never,” she said. “It is very kind of you to come at + this hour.” + </p> + <p> + “I have just returned from my journey,” said Acton. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, very kind, very kind,” she repeated, looking about her where to sit. + </p> + <p> + “I went first to the other house,” Acton continued. “I expected to find + you there.” + </p> + <p> + She had sunk into her usual chair; but she got up again, and began to move + about the room. Acton had laid down his hat and stick; he was looking at + her, conscious that there was in fact a great charm in seeing her again. + “I don’t know whether I ought to tell you to sit down,” she said. “It is + too late to begin a visit.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s too early to end one,” Acton declared; “and we needn’t mind the + beginning.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him again, and, after a moment, dropped once more into her + low chair, while he took a place near her. “We are in the middle, then?” + she asked. “Was that where we were when you went away? No, I haven’t been + to the other house.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yesterday, nor the day before, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know how many days it is.” + </p> + <p> + “You are tired of it,” said Acton. + </p> + <p> + She leaned back in her chair; her arms were folded. “That is a terrible + accusation, but I have not the courage to defend myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not attacking you,” said Acton. “I expected something of this kind.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a proof of extreme intelligence. I hope you enjoyed your journey.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” Acton declared. “I would much rather have been here with + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you <i>are</i> attacking me,” said the Baroness. “You are contrasting my + inconstancy with your own fidelity.” + </p> + <p> + “I confess I never get tired of people I like.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you are not a poor wicked foreign woman, with irritable nerves and a + sophisticated mind!” + </p> + <p> + “Something has happened to you since I went away,” said Acton, changing + his place. + </p> + <p> + “Your going away—that is what has happened to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that you have missed me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “If I had meant to say it, it would not be worth your making a note of. I + am very dishonest and my compliments are worthless.” + </p> + <p> + Acton was silent for some moments. “You have broken down,” he said at + last. + </p> + <p> + Madame Münster left her chair, and began to move about. + </p> + <p> + “Only for a moment. I shall pull myself together again.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better not take it too hard. If you are bored, you needn’t be + afraid to say so—to me at least.” + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn’t say such things as that,” the Baroness answered. “You + should encourage me.” + </p> + <p> + “I admire your patience; that is encouraging.” + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn’t even say that. When you talk of my patience you are + disloyal to your own people. Patience implies suffering; and what have I + had to suffer?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not hunger, not unkindness, certainly,” said Acton, laughing. + “Nevertheless, we all admire your patience.” + </p> + <p> + “You all detest me!” cried the Baroness, with a sudden vehemence, turning + her back toward him. + </p> + <p> + “You make it hard,” said Acton, getting up, “for a man to say something + tender to you.” This evening there was something particularly striking and + touching about her; an unwonted softness and a look of suppressed emotion. + He felt himself suddenly appreciating the fact that she had behaved very + well. She had come to this quiet corner of the world under the weight of a + cruel indignity, and she had been so gracefully, modestly thankful for the + rest she found there. She had joined that simple circle over the way; she + had mingled in its plain, provincial talk; she had shared its meagre and + savorless pleasures. She had set herself a task, and she had rigidly + performed it. She had conformed to the angular conditions of New England + life, and she had had the tact and pluck to carry it off as if she liked + them. Acton felt a more downright need than he had ever felt before to + tell her that he admired her and that she struck him as a very superior + woman. All along, hitherto, he had been on his guard with her; he had been + cautious, observant, suspicious. But now a certain light tumult in his + blood seemed to tell him that a finer degree of confidence in this + charming woman would be its own reward. “We don’t detest you,” he went on. + “I don’t know what you mean. At any rate, I speak for myself; I don’t know + anything about the others. Very likely, you detest them for the dull life + they make you lead. Really, it would give me a sort of pleasure to hear + you say so.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia had been looking at the door on the other side of the room; now + she slowly turned her eyes toward Robert Acton. “What can be the motive,” + she asked, “of a man like you—an honest man, a + <i>galant homme</i>—in saying so base a thing as that?” + </p> + <p> + “Does it sound very base?” asked Acton, candidly. “I suppose it does, and + I thank you for telling me so. Of course, I don’t mean it literally.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness stood looking at him. “How do you mean it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + This question was difficult to answer, and Acton, feeling the least bit + foolish, walked to the open window and looked out. He stood there, + thinking a moment, and then he turned back. “You know that document that + you were to send to Germany,” he said. “You called it your ‘renunciation.’ + Did you ever send it?” + </p> + <p> + Madame Münster’s eyes expanded; she looked very grave. “What a singular + answer to my question!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it isn’t an answer,” said Acton. “I have wished to ask you, many + times. I thought it probable you would tell me yourself. The question, on + my part, seems abrupt now; but it would be abrupt at any time.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was silent a moment; and then, “I think I have told you too + much!” she said. + </p> + <p> + This declaration appeared to Acton to have a certain force; he had indeed + a sense of asking more of her than he offered her. He returned to the + window, and watched, for a moment, a little star that twinkled through the + lattice of the piazza. There were at any rate offers enough he could make; + perhaps he had hitherto not been sufficiently explicit in doing so. “I + wish you would ask something of me,” he presently said. “Is there nothing + I can do for you? If you can’t stand this dull life any more, let me amuse + you!” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness had sunk once more into a chair, and she had taken up a fan + which she held, with both hands, to her mouth. Over the top of the fan her + eyes were fixed on him. “You are very strange tonight,” she said, with a + little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I will do anything in the world,” he rejoined, standing in front of her. + “Shouldn’t you like to travel about and see something of the country? + Won’t you go to Niagara? You ought to see Niagara, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “With you, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be delighted to take you.” + </p> + <p> + “You alone?” + </p> + <p> + Acton looked at her, smiling, and yet with a serious air. “Well, yes; we + might go alone,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “If you were not what you are,” she answered, “I should feel insulted.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean—what I am?” + </p> + <p> + “If you were one of the gentlemen I have been used to all my life. If you + were not a queer Bostonian.” + </p> + <p> + “If the gentlemen you have been used to have taught you to expect + insults,” said Acton, “I am glad I am what I am. You had much better come + to Niagara.” + </p> + <p> + “If you wish to ‘amuse’ me,” the Baroness declared, “you need go to no + further expense. You amuse me very effectually.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down opposite to her; she still held her fan up to her face, with + her eyes only showing above it. There was a moment’s silence, and then he + said, returning to his former question, “Have you sent that document to + Germany?” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a moment’s silence. The expressive eyes of Madame Münster + seemed, however, half to break it. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you—at Niagara!” she said. + </p> + <p> + She had hardly spoken when the door at the further end of the room opened—the + door upon which, some minutes previous, Eugenia had fixed her gaze. + Clifford Wentworth stood there, blushing and looking rather awkward. The + Baroness rose, quickly, and Acton, more slowly, did the same. Clifford + gave him no greeting; he was looking at Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you were here?” exclaimed Acton. + </p> + <p> + “He was in Felix’s studio,” said Madame Münster. “He wanted to see his + sketches.” + </p> + <p> + Clifford looked at Robert Acton, but said nothing; he only fanned himself + with his hat. “You chose a bad moment,” said Acton; “you hadn’t much + light.” + </p> + <p> + “I hadn’t any!” said Clifford, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Your candle went out?” Eugenia asked. “You should have come back here and + lighted it again.” + </p> + <p> + Clifford looked at her a moment. “So I have—come back. But I have + left the candle!” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia turned away. “You are very stupid, my poor boy. You had better go + home.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Clifford, “good-night!” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you a word to throw to a man when he has safely returned from a + dangerous journey?” Acton asked. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do?” said Clifford. “I thought—I thought you + were——” and he paused, looking at the Baroness again. + </p> + <p> + “You thought I was at Newport, eh? So I was—this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, clever child!” said Madame Münster, over her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Clifford stared at her—not at all like a clever child; and then, + with one of his little facetious growls, took his departure. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with him?” asked Acton, when he was gone. “He seemed + rather in a muddle.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia, who was near the window, glanced out, listening a moment. “The + matter—the matter”—she answered. “But you don’t say such + things here.” + </p> + <p> + “If you mean that he had been drinking a little, you can say that.” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn’t drink any more. I have cured him. And in return—he’s + in love with me.” + </p> + <p> + It was Acton’s turn to stare. He instantly thought of his sister; but he + said nothing about her. He began to laugh. “I don’t wonder at his passion! + But I wonder at his forsaking your society for that of your brother’s + paint-brushes.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia was silent a little. “He had not been in the studio. I invented + that at the moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Invented it? For what purpose?” + </p> + <p> + “He has an idea of being romantic. He has adopted the habit of coming to + see me at midnight—passing only through the orchard and through + Felix’s painting-room, which has a door opening that way. It seems to + amuse him,” added Eugenia, with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + Acton felt more surprise than he confessed to, for this was a new view of + Clifford, whose irregularities had hitherto been quite without the + romantic element. He tried to laugh again, but he felt rather too serious, + and after a moment’s hesitation his seriousness explained itself. “I hope + you don’t encourage him,” he said. “He must not be inconstant to poor + Lizzie.” + </p> + <p> + “To your sister?” + </p> + <p> + “You know they are decidedly intimate,” said Acton. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” cried Eugenia, smiling, “has she—has she——” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” Acton interrupted, “what she has. But I always supposed + that Clifford had a desire to make himself agreeable to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, <i>par exemple!</i>” the Baroness went on. “The little monster! The next + time he becomes sentimental I will him tell that he ought to be ashamed of + himself.” + </p> + <p> + Acton was silent a moment. “You had better say nothing about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I had told him as much already, on general grounds,” said the Baroness. + “But in this country, you know, the relations of young people are so + extraordinary that one is quite at sea. They are not engaged when you + would quite say they ought to be. Take Charlotte Wentworth, for instance, + and that young ecclesiastic. If I were her father I should insist upon his + marrying her; but it appears to be thought there is no urgency. On the + other hand, you suddenly learn that a boy of twenty and a little girl who + is still with her governess—your sister has no governess? Well, + then, who is never away from her mamma—a young couple, in short, + between whom you have noticed nothing beyond an exchange of the childish + pleasantries characteristic of their age, are on the point of setting up + as man and wife.” The Baroness spoke with a certain exaggerated volubility + which was in contrast with the languid grace that had characterized her + manner before Clifford made his appearance. It seemed to Acton that there + was a spark of irritation in her eye—a note of irony (as when she + spoke of Lizzie being never away from her mother) in her voice. If Madame + Münster was irritated, Robert Acton was vaguely mystified; she began to + move about the room again, and he looked at her without saying anything. + Presently she took out her watch, and, glancing at it, declared that it + was three o’clock in the morning and that he must go. + </p> + <p> + “I have not been here an hour,” he said, “and they are still sitting up at + the other house. You can see the lights. Your brother has not come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, at the other house,” cried Eugenia, “they are terrible people! I + don’t know what they may do over there. I am a quiet little humdrum woman; + I have rigid rules and I keep them. One of them is not to have visitors in + the small hours—especially clever men like you. So good-night!” + </p> + <p> + Decidedly, the Baroness was incisive; and though Acton bade her good-night + and departed, he was still a good deal mystified. + </p> + <p> + The next day Clifford Wentworth came to see Lizzie, and Acton, who was at + home and saw him pass through the garden, took note of the circumstance. + He had a natural desire to make it tally with Madame Münster’s account + of Clifford’s disaffection; but his ingenuity, finding itself unequal to + the task, resolved at last to ask help of the young man’s candor. He + waited till he saw him going away, and then he went out and overtook him + in the grounds. + </p> + <p> + “I wish very much you would answer me a question,” Acton said. “What were + you doing, last night, at Madame Münster’s?” + </p> + <p> + Clifford began to laugh and to blush, by no means like a young man with a + romantic secret. “What did she tell you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “That is exactly what I don’t want to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I want to tell you the same,” said Clifford; “and unless I know it + perhaps I can’t.” + </p> + <p> + They had stopped in a garden path; Acton looked hard at his rosy young + kinsman. “She said she couldn’t fancy what had got into you; you appeared + to have taken a violent dislike to her.” + </p> + <p> + Clifford stared, looking a little alarmed. “Oh, come,” he growled, “you + don’t mean that!” + </p> + <p> + “And that when—for common civility’s sake—you came + occasionally to the house you left her alone and spent your time in + Felix’s studio, under pretext of looking at his sketches.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come!” growled Clifford, again. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever know me to tell an untruth?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, lots of them!” said Clifford, seeing an opening, out of the + discussion, for his sarcastic powers. “Well,” he presently added, “I + thought you were my father.” + </p> + <p> + “You knew someone was there?” + </p> + <p> + “We heard you coming in.” + </p> + <p> + Acton meditated. “You had been with the Baroness, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I was in the parlor. We heard your step outside. I thought it was my + father.” + </p> + <p> + “And on that,” asked Acton, “you ran away?” + </p> + <p> + “She told me to go—to go out by the studio.” + </p> + <p> + Acton meditated more intensely; if there had been a chair at hand he would + have sat down. “Why should she wish you not to meet your father?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Clifford, “father doesn’t like to see me there.” + </p> + <p> + Acton looked askance at his companion and forbore to make any comment upon + this assertion. “Has he said so,” he asked, “to the Baroness?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope not,” said Clifford. “He hasn’t said so—in so many + words—to me. But I know it worries him; and I want to stop worrying + him. The Baroness knows it, and she wants me to stop, too.” + </p> + <p> + “To stop coming to see her?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know about that; but to stop worrying father. Eugenia knows + everything,” Clifford added, with an air of knowingness of his own. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Acton, interrogatively, “Eugenia knows everything?” + </p> + <p> + “She knew it was not father coming in.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you go?” + </p> + <p> + Clifford blushed and laughed afresh. “Well, I was afraid it was. And + besides, she told me to go, at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she think it was I?” Acton asked. + </p> + <p> + “She didn’t say so.” + </p> + <p> + Again Robert Acton reflected. “But you didn’t go,” he presently said; + “you came back.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t get out of the studio,” Clifford rejoined. “The door was + locked, and Felix has nailed some planks across the lower half of the + confounded windows to make the light come in from above. So they were no + use. I waited there a good while, and then, suddenly, I felt ashamed. I + didn’t want to be hiding away from my own father. I couldn’t stand it + any longer. I bolted out, and when I found it was you I was a little + flurried. But Eugenia carried it off, didn’t she?” Clifford added, in the + tone of a young humorist whose perception had not been permanently clouded + by the sense of his own discomfort. + </p> + <p> + “Beautifully!” said Acton. “Especially,” he continued, “when one remembers + that you were very imprudent and that she must have been a good deal + annoyed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Clifford, with the indifference of a young man who feels that + however he may have failed of felicity in behavior he is extremely just in + his impressions, “Eugenia doesn’t care for anything!” + </p> + <p> + Acton hesitated a moment. “Thank you for telling me this,” he said at + last. And then, laying his hand on Clifford’s shoulder, he added, “Tell me + one thing more: are you by chance a little in love with the Baroness?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir!” said Clifford, almost shaking off his hand. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + The first sunday that followed Robert Acton’s return from Newport + witnessed a change in the brilliant weather that had long prevailed. The + rain began to fall and the day was cold and dreary. Mr. Wentworth and his + daughters put on overshoes and went to church, and Felix Young, without + overshoes, went also, holding an umbrella over Gertrude. It is to be + feared that, in the whole observance, this was the privilege he most + highly valued. The Baroness remained at home; she was in neither a + cheerful nor a devotional mood. She had, however, never been, during her + residence in the United States, what is called a regular attendant at + divine service; and on this particular Sunday morning of which I began + with speaking she stood at the window of her little drawing-room, watching + the long arm of a rose tree that was attached to her piazza, but a portion + of which had disengaged itself, sway to and fro, shake and gesticulate, + against the dusky drizzle of the sky. Every now and then, in a gust of + wind, the rose tree scattered a shower of water-drops against the + window-pane; it appeared to have a kind of human movement—a + menacing, warning intention. The room was very cold; Madame Münster put on + a shawl and walked about. Then she determined to have some fire; and + summoning her ancient negress, the contrast of whose polished ebony and + whose crimson turban had been at first a source of satisfaction to her, + she made arrangements for the production of a crackling flame. This old + woman’s name was Azarina. The Baroness had begun by thinking that there + would be a savory wildness in her talk, and, for amusement, she had + encouraged her to chatter. But Azarina was dry and prim; her conversation + was anything but African; she reminded Eugenia of the tiresome old ladies + she met in society. She knew, however, how to make a fire; so that after + she had laid the logs, Eugenia, who was terribly bored, found a quarter of + an hour’s entertainment in sitting and watching them blaze and sputter. + She had thought it very likely Robert Acton would come and see her; she + had not met him since that infelicitous evening. But the morning waned + without his coming; several times she thought she heard his step on the + piazza; but it was only a window-shutter shaking in a rain-gust. The + Baroness, since the beginning of that episode in her career of which a + slight sketch has been attempted in these pages, had had many moments of + irritation. But today her irritation had a peculiar keenness; it appeared + to feed upon itself. It urged her to do something; but it suggested no + particularly profitable line of action. If she could have done something + at the moment, on the spot, she would have stepped upon a European steamer + and turned her back, with a kind of rapture, upon that profoundly + mortifying failure, her visit to her American relations. It is not exactly + apparent why she should have termed this enterprise a failure, inasmuch as + she had been treated with the highest distinction for which allowance had + been made in American institutions. Her irritation came, at bottom, from + the sense, which, always present, had suddenly grown acute, that the + social soil on this big, vague continent was somehow not adapted for + growing those plants whose fragrance she especially inclined to inhale and + by which she liked to see herself surrounded—a species of vegetation + for which she carried a collection of seedlings, as we may say, in her + pocket. She found her chief happiness in the sense of exerting a certain + power and making a certain impression; and now she felt the annoyance of a + rather wearied swimmer who, on nearing shore, to land, finds a smooth + straight wall of rock when he had counted upon a clean firm beach. Her + power, in the American air, seemed to have lost its prehensile attributes; + the smooth wall of rock was insurmountable. <i>“Surely je n’en suis pas là,”</i> + she said to herself, “that I let it make me uncomfortable that a Mr. + Robert Acton shouldn’t honor me with a visit!” Yet she was vexed that he + had not come; and she was vexed at her vexation. + </p> + <p> + Her brother, at least, came in, stamping in the hall and shaking the wet + from his coat. In a moment he entered the room, with a glow in his cheek + and half-a-dozen rain-drops glistening on his moustache. “Ah, you have a + fire,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <i>“Les beaux jours sont passés,”</i> replied the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Never, never! They have only begun,” Felix declared, planting himself + before the hearth. He turned his back to the fire, placed his hands behind + him, extended his legs and looked away through the window with an + expression of face which seemed to denote the perception of rose-color + even in the tints of a wet Sunday. + </p> + <p> + His sister, from her chair, looked up at him, watching him; and what she + saw in his face was not grateful to her present mood. She was puzzled by + many things, but her brother’s disposition was a frequent source of wonder + to her. I say frequent and not constant, for there were long periods + during which she gave her attention to other problems. Sometimes she had + said to herself that his happy temper, his eternal gaiety, was an + affectation, a <i>pose</i>; but she was vaguely conscious that during the present + summer he had been a highly successful comedian. They had never yet had an + explanation; she had not known the need of one. Felix was presumably + following the bent of his disinterested genius, and she felt that she had + no advice to give him that he would understand. With this, there was + always a certain element of comfort about Felix—the assurance that + he would not interfere. He was very delicate, this pure-minded Felix; in + effect, he was her brother, and Madame Münster felt that there was a great + propriety, every way, in that. It is true that Felix was delicate; he was + not fond of explanations with his sister; this was one of the very few + things in the world about which he was uncomfortable. But now he was not + thinking of anything uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “Dear brother,” said Eugenia at last, “do stop making <i>les yeux doux</i> at the + rain.” + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure. I will make them at you!” answered Felix. + </p> + <p> + “How much longer,” asked Eugenia, in a moment, “do you propose to remain + in this lovely spot?” + </p> + <p> + Felix stared. “Do you want to go away—already?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Already’ is delicious. I am not so happy as you.” + </p> + <p> + Felix dropped into a chair, looking at the fire. “The fact is I <i>am</i> happy,” + he said in his light, clear tone. + </p> + <p> + “And do you propose to spend your life in making love to Gertrude + Wentworth?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” said Felix, smiling sidewise at his sister. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness returned his glance, much more gravely; and then, “Do you + like her?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you?” Felix demanded. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was silent a moment. “I will answer you in the words of the + gentleman who was asked if he liked music: <i>‘Je ne la crains pas!’’</i>” + </p> + <p> + “She admires you immensely,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care for that. Other women should not admire one.” + </p> + <p> + “They should dislike you?” + </p> + <p> + Again Madame Münster hesitated. “They should hate me! It’s a measure of + the time I have been losing here that they don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “No time is lost in which one has been happy!” said Felix, with a bright + sententiousness which may well have been a little irritating. + </p> + <p> + “And in which,” rejoined his sister, with a harsher laugh, “one has + secured the affections of a young lady with a fortune!” + </p> + <p> + Felix explained, very candidly and seriously. “I have secured Gertrude’s + affection, but I am by no means sure that I have secured her fortune. That + may come—or it may not.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well, it <i>may!</i> That’s the great point.” + </p> + <p> + “It depends upon her father. He doesn’t smile upon our union. You know he + wants her to marry Mr. Brand.” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about it!” cried the Baroness. “Please to put on a log.” + Felix complied with her request and sat watching the quickening of the + flame. Presently his sister added, “And you propose to elope with + mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “By no means. I don’t wish to do anything that’s disagreeable to Mr. + Wentworth. He has been far too kind to us.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must choose between pleasing yourself and pleasing him.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to please everyone!” exclaimed Felix, joyously. “I have a good + conscience. I made up my mind at the outset that it was not my place to + make love to Gertrude.” + </p> + <p> + “So, to simplify matters, she made love to you!” + </p> + <p> + Felix looked at his sister with sudden gravity. “You say you are not + afraid of her,” he said. “But perhaps you ought to be—a little. + She’s a very clever person.” + </p> + <p> + “I begin to see it!” cried the Baroness. Her brother, making no rejoinder, + leaned back in his chair, and there was a long silence. At last, with an + altered accent, Madame Münster put another question. “You expect, at any + rate, to marry?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be greatly disappointed if we don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “A disappointment or two will do you good!” the Baroness declared. “And, + afterwards, do you mean to turn American?” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me I am a very good American already. But we shall go to + Europe. Gertrude wants extremely to see the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, like me, when I came here!” said the Baroness, with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “No, not like you,” Felix rejoined, looking at his sister with a certain + gentle seriousness. While he looked at her she rose from her chair, and he + also got up. “Gertrude is not at all like you,” he went on; “but in her + own way she is almost as clever.” He paused a moment; his soul was full of + an agreeable feeling and of a lively disposition to express it. His + sister, to his spiritual vision, was always like the lunar disk when only + a part of it is lighted. The shadow on this bright surface seemed to him + to expand and to contract; but whatever its proportions, he always + appreciated the moonlight. He looked at the Baroness, and then he kissed + her. “I am very much in love with Gertrude,” he said. Eugenia turned away + and walked about the room, and Felix continued. “She is very interesting, + and very different from what she seems. She has never had a chance. She is + very brilliant. We will go to Europe and amuse ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness had gone to the window, where she stood looking out. The day + was drearier than ever; the rain was doggedly falling. “Yes, to amuse + yourselves,” she said at last, “you had decidedly better go to Europe!” + Then she turned round, looking at her brother. A chair stood near her; she + leaned her hands upon the back of it. “Don’t you think it is very good of + me,” she asked, “to come all this way with you simply to see you properly + married—if properly it is?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it will be properly!” cried Felix, with light eagerness. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness gave a little laugh. “You are thinking only of yourself, and + you don’t answer my question. While you are amusing yourself—with + the brilliant Gertrude—what shall I be doing?” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Vous serez de la partie!”</i> cried Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you: I should spoil it.” The Baroness dropped her eyes for some + moments. “Do you propose, however, to leave me here?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + Felix smiled at her. “My dearest sister, where you are concerned I never + propose. I execute your commands.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” said Eugenia, slowly, “that you are the most heartless person + living. Don’t you see that I am in trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw that you were not cheerful, and I gave you some good news.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let me give you some news,” said the Baroness. “You probably will + not have discovered it for yourself. Robert Acton wants to marry me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I had not discovered that. But I quite understand it. Why does it + make you unhappy?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I can’t decide.” + </p> + <p> + “Accept him, accept him!” cried Felix, joyously. “He is the best fellow in + the world.” + </p> + <p> + “He is immensely in love with me,” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “And he has a large fortune. Permit me in turn to remind you of that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am perfectly aware of it,” said Eugenia. “That’s a great item in + his favor. I am terribly candid.” And she left her place and came nearer + her brother, looking at him hard. He was turning over several things; she + was wondering in what manner he really understood her. + </p> + <p> + There were several ways of understanding her: there was what she said, and + there was what she meant, and there was something, between the two, that + was neither. It is probable that, in the last analysis, what she meant was + that Felix should spare her the necessity of stating the case more exactly + and should hold himself commissioned to assist her by all honorable means + to marry the best fellow in the world. But in all this it was never + discovered what Felix understood. + </p> + <p> + “Once you have your liberty, what are your objections?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t particularly like him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, try a little.” + </p> + <p> + “I am trying now,” said Eugenia. “I should succeed better if he didn’t + live here. I could never live here.” + </p> + <p> + “Make him go to Europe,” Felix suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there you speak of happiness based upon violent effort,” the Baroness + rejoined. “That is not what I am looking for. He would never live in + Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “He would live anywhere, with you!” said Felix, gallantly. + </p> + <p> + His sister looked at him still, with a ray of penetration in her charming + eyes; then she turned away again. “You see, at all events,” she presently + went on, “that if it had been said of me that I had come over here to seek + my fortune it would have to be added that I have found it!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t leave it lying!” urged Felix, with smiling solemnity. + </p> + <p> + “I am much obliged to you for your interest,” his sister declared, after a + moment. “But promise me one thing: <i>pas de zèle!</i> If Mr. Acton should ask + you to plead his cause, excuse yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall certainly have the excuse,” said Felix, “that I have a cause of + my own to plead.” + </p> + <p> + “If he should talk of me—favorably,” Eugenia continued, “warn him + against dangerous illusions. I detest importunities; I want to decide at + my leisure, with my eyes open.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be discreet,” said Felix, “except to you. To you I will say, + Accept him outright.” + </p> + <p> + She had advanced to the open doorway, and she stood looking at him. “I + will go and dress and think of it,” she said; and he heard her moving + slowly to her apartments. + </p> + <p> + Late in the afternoon the rain stopped, and just afterwards there was a + great flaming, flickering, trickling sunset. Felix sat in his + painting-room and did some work; but at last, as the light, which had not + been brilliant, began to fade, he laid down his brushes and came out to + the little piazza of the cottage. Here he walked up and down for some + time, looking at the splendid blaze of the western sky and saying, as he + had often said before, that this was certainly the country of sunsets. + There was something in these glorious deeps of fire that quickened his + imagination; he always found images and promises in the western sky. He + thought of a good many things—of roaming about the world with + Gertrude Wentworth; he seemed to see their possible adventures, in a + glowing frieze, between the cloud-bars; then of what Eugenia had just been + telling him. He wished very much that Madame Münster would make a + comfortable and honorable marriage. Presently, as the sunset expanded and + deepened, the fancy took him of making a note of so magnificent a piece of + coloring. He returned to his studio and fetched out a small panel, with + his palette and brushes, and, placing the panel against a window-sill, he + began to daub with great gusto. While he was so occupied he saw Mr. Brand, + in the distance, slowly come down from Mr. Wentworth’s house, nursing a + large folded umbrella. He walked with a joyless, meditative tread, and his + eyes were bent upon the ground. Felix poised his brush for a moment, + watching him; then, by a sudden impulse, as he drew nearer, advanced to + the garden-gate and signaled to him—the palette and bunch of brushes + contributing to this effect. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand stopped and started; then he appeared to decide to accept + Felix’s invitation. He came out of Mr. Wentworth’s gate and passed along + the road; after which he entered the little garden of the cottage. Felix + had gone back to his sunset; but he made his visitor welcome while he + rapidly brushed it in. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted so much to speak to you that I thought I would call you,” he + said, in the friendliest tone. “All the more that you have been to see me + so little. You have come to see my sister; I know that. But you haven’t + come to see me—the celebrated artist. Artists are very sensitive, + you know; they notice those things.” And Felix turned round, smiling, with + a brush in his mouth. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand stood there with a certain blank, candid majesty, pulling + together the large flaps of his umbrella. “Why should I come to see you?” + he asked. “I know nothing of Art.” + </p> + <p> + “It would sound very conceited, I suppose,” said Felix, “if I were to say + that it would be a good little chance for you to learn something. You + would ask me why you should learn; and I should have no answer to that. I + suppose a minister has no need for Art, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “He has need for good temper, sir,” said Mr. Brand, with decision. + </p> + <p> + Felix jumped up, with his palette on his thumb and a movement of the + liveliest deprecation. “That’s because I keep you standing there while I + splash my red paint! I beg a thousand pardons! You see what bad manners + Art gives a man; and how right you are to let it alone. I didn’t mean you + should stand, either. The piazza, as you see, is ornamented with rustic + chairs; though indeed I ought to warn you that they have nails in the + wrong places. I was just making a note of that sunset. I never saw such a + blaze of different reds. It looks as if the Celestial City were in flames, + eh? If that were really the case I suppose it would be the business of you + theologians to put out the fire. Fancy me—an ungodly artist—quietly + sitting down to paint it!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand had always credited Felix Young with a certain impudence, but it + appeared to him that on this occasion his impudence was so great as to + make a special explanation—or even an apology—necessary. And + the impression, it must be added, was sufficiently natural. Felix had at + all times a brilliant assurance of manner which was simply the vehicle of + his good spirits and his good will; but at present he had a special + design, and as he would have admitted that the design was audacious, so he + was conscious of having summoned all the arts of conversation to his aid. + But he was so far from desiring to offend his visitor that he was rapidly + asking himself what personal compliment he could pay the young clergyman + that would gratify him most. If he could think of it, he was prepared to + pay it down. “Have you been preaching one of your beautiful sermons + today?” he suddenly asked, laying down his palette. This was not what + Felix had been trying to think of, but it was a tolerable stop-gap. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand frowned—as much as a man can frown who has very fair, soft + eyebrows, and, beneath them, very gentle, tranquil eyes. “No, I have not + preached any sermon today. Did you bring me over here for the purpose of + making that inquiry?” + </p> + <p> + Felix saw that he was irritated, and he regretted it immensely; but he had + no fear of not being, in the end, agreeable to Mr. Brand. He looked at + him, smiling and laying his hand on his arm. “No, no, not for that—not + for that. I wanted to ask you something; I wanted to tell you something. I + am sure it will interest you very much. Only—as it is something + rather private—we had better come into my little studio. I have a + western window; we can still see the sunset. <i>Andiamo!</i>” And he gave a + little pat to his companion’s arm. + </p> + <p> + He led the way in; Mr. Brand stiffly and softly followed. The twilight had + thickened in the little studio; but the wall opposite the western window + was covered with a deep pink flush. There were a great many sketches and + half-finished canvasses suspended in this rosy glow, and the corners of + the room were vague and dusky. Felix begged Mr. Brand to sit down; then + glancing round him, “By Jove, how pretty it looks!” he cried. But Mr. + Brand would not sit down; he went and leaned against the window; he + wondered what Felix wanted of him. In the shadow, on the darker parts of + the wall, he saw the gleam of three or four pictures that looked fantastic + and surprising. They seemed to represent naked figures. Felix stood there, + with his head a little bent and his eyes fixed upon his visitor, smiling + intensely, pulling his moustache. Mr. Brand felt vaguely uneasy. “It is + very delicate—what I want to say,” Felix began. “But I have been + thinking of it for some time.” + </p> + <p> + “Please to say it as quickly as possible,” said Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “It’s because you are a clergyman, you know,” Felix went on. “I don’t + think I should venture to say it to a common man.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand was silent a moment. “If it is a question of yielding to a + weakness, of resenting an injury, I am afraid I am a very common man.” + </p> + <p> + “My dearest friend,” cried Felix, “this is not an injury; it’s a benefit—a + great service! You will like it extremely. Only it’s so delicate!” And, + in the dim light, he continued to smile intensely. “You know I take a + great interest in my cousins—in Charlotte and Gertrude Wentworth. + That’s very evident from my having traveled some five thousand miles to + see them.” Mr. Brand said nothing and Felix proceeded. “Coming into their + society as a perfect stranger I received of course a great many new + impressions, and my impressions had a great freshness, a great keenness. + Do you know what I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure that I do; but I should like you to continue.” + </p> + <p> + “I think my impressions have always a good deal of freshness,” said Mr. + Brand’s entertainer; “but on this occasion it was perhaps particularly + natural that—coming in, as I say, from outside—I should be + struck with things that passed unnoticed among yourselves. And then I had + my sister to help me; and she is simply the most observant woman in the + world.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not surprised,” said Mr. Brand, “that in our little circle two + intelligent persons should have found food for observation. I am sure + that, of late, I have found it myself!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I shall surprise you yet!” cried Felix, laughing. “Both my sister + and I took a great fancy to my cousin Charlotte.” + </p> + <p> + “Your cousin Charlotte?” repeated Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “We fell in love with her from the first!” + </p> + <p> + “You fell in love with Charlotte?” Mr. Brand murmured. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Dame!</i>” exclaimed Felix, “she’s a very charming person; and Eugenia was + especially smitten.” Mr. Brand stood staring, and he pursued, “Affection, + you know, opens one’s eyes, and we noticed something. Charlotte is not + happy! Charlotte is in love.” And Felix, drawing nearer, laid his hand + again upon his companion’s arm. + </p> + <p> + There was something akin to an acknowledgment of fascination in the way + Mr. Brand looked at him; but the young clergyman retained as yet quite + enough self-possession to be able to say, with a good deal of solemnity, + “She is not in love with you.” + </p> + <p> + Felix gave a light laugh, and rejoined with the alacrity of a maritime + adventurer who feels a puff of wind in his sail. “Ah, no; if she were in + love with me I should know it! I am not so blind as you.” + </p> + <p> + “As I?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, you are stone blind. Poor Charlotte is dead in love with + <i>you!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand said nothing for a moment; he breathed a little heavily. “Is + that what you wanted to say to me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have wanted to say it these three weeks. Because of late she has been + worse. I told you,” added Felix, “it was very delicate.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir”—Mr. Brand began; “well, sir——” + </p> + <p> + “I was sure you didn’t know it,” Felix continued. “But don’t you see—as + soon as I mention it—how everything is explained?” Mr. Brand + answered nothing; he looked for a chair and softly sat down. Felix could + see that he was blushing; he had looked straight at his host hitherto, but + now he looked away. The foremost effect of what he had heard had been a + sort of irritation of his modesty. “Of course,” said Felix, “I suggest + nothing; it would be very presumptuous in me to advise you. But I think + there is no doubt about the fact.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand looked hard at the floor for some moments; he was oppressed with + a mixture of sensations. Felix, standing there, was very sure that one of + them was profound surprise. The innocent young man had been completely + unsuspicious of poor Charlotte’s hidden flame. This gave Felix great hope; + he was sure that Mr. Brand would be flattered. Felix thought him very + transparent, and indeed he was so; he could neither simulate nor + dissimulate. “I scarcely know what to make of this,” he said at last, + without looking up; and Felix was struck with the fact that he offered no + protest or contradiction. Evidently Felix had kindled a train of memories—a + retrospective illumination. It was making, to Mr. Brand’s astonished eyes, + a very pretty blaze; his second emotion had been a gratification of + vanity. + </p> + <p> + “Thank me for telling you,” Felix rejoined. “It’s a good thing to know.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure of that,” said Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, don’t let her languish!” Felix murmured, lightly and softly. + </p> + <p> + “You <i>do</i> advise me, then?” And Mr. Brand looked up. + </p> + <p> + “I congratulate you!” said Felix, smiling. He had thought at first his + visitor was simply appealing; but he saw he was a little ironical. + </p> + <p> + “It is in your interest; you have interfered with me,” the young clergyman + went on. + </p> + <p> + Felix still stood and smiled. The little room had grown darker, and the + crimson glow had faded; but Mr. Brand could see the brilliant expression + of his face. “I won’t pretend not to know what you mean,” said Felix at + last. “But I have not really interfered with you. Of what you had to lose—with + another person—you have lost nothing. And think what you have + gained!” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me I am the proper judge, on each side,” Mr. Brand declared. + He got up, holding the brim of his hat against his mouth and staring at + Felix through the dusk. + </p> + <p> + “You have lost an illusion!” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “What do you call an illusion?” + </p> + <p> + “The belief that you really know—that you have ever really known—Gertrude + Wentworth. Depend upon that,” pursued Felix. “I don’t know her yet; but I + have no illusions; I don’t pretend to.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand kept gazing, over his hat. “She has always been a lucid, limpid + nature,” he said, solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “She has always been a dormant nature. She was waiting for a touchstone. + But now she is beginning to awaken.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t praise her to me!” said Mr. Brand, with a little quaver in his + voice. “If you have the advantage of me that is not generous.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, I am melting with generosity!” exclaimed Felix. “And I am + not praising my cousin. I am simply attempting a scientific definition of + her. She doesn’t care for abstractions. Now I think the contrary is what + you have always fancied—is the basis on which you have been + building. She is extremely preoccupied with the concrete. I care for the + concrete, too. But Gertrude is stronger than I; she whirls me along!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand looked for a moment into the crown of his hat. “It’s a most + interesting nature.” + </p> + <p> + “So it is,” said Felix. “But it pulls—it pulls—like a runaway + horse. Now I like the feeling of a runaway horse; and if I am thrown out + of the vehicle it is no great matter. But if <i>you</i> should be thrown, Mr. + Brand”—and Felix paused a moment—“another person also would + suffer from the accident.” + </p> + <p> + “What other person?” + </p> + <p> + “Charlotte Wentworth!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand looked at Felix for a moment sidewise, mistrustfully; then his + eyes slowly wandered over the ceiling. Felix was sure he was secretly + struck with the romance of the situation. “I think this is none of our + business,” the young minister murmured. + </p> + <p> + “None of mine, perhaps; but surely yours!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand lingered still, looking at the ceiling; there was evidently + something he wanted to say. “What do you mean by Miss Gertrude being + strong?” he asked abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Felix meditatively, “I mean that she has had a great deal of + self-possession. She was waiting—for years; even when she seemed, + perhaps, to be living in the present. She knew how to wait; she had a + purpose. That’s what I mean by her being strong.” + </p> + <p> + “But what do you mean by her purpose?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—the purpose to see the world!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand eyed his strange informant askance again; but he said nothing. + At last he turned away, as if to take leave. He seemed bewildered, + however; for instead of going to the door he moved toward the opposite + corner of the room. Felix stood and watched him for a moment—almost + groping about in the dusk; then he led him to the door, with a tender, + almost fraternal movement. “Is that all you have to say?” asked Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s all—but it will bear a good deal of thinking of.” + </p> + <p> + Felix went with him to the garden-gate, and watched him slowly walk away + into the thickening twilight with a relaxed rigidity that tried to rectify + itself. “He is offended, excited, bewildered, perplexed—and + enchanted!” Felix said to himself. “That’s a capital mixture.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + Since that visit paid by the Baroness Münster to Mrs. Acton, of which some + account was given at an earlier stage of this narrative, the intercourse + between these two ladies had been neither frequent nor intimate. It was + not that Mrs. Acton had failed to appreciate Madame Münster’s charms; + on the contrary, her perception of the graces of manner and conversation + of her brilliant visitor had been only too acute. Mrs. Acton was, as they + said in Boston, very “intense,” and her impressions were apt to be too + many for her. The state of her health required the restriction of emotion; + and this is why, receiving, as she sat in her eternal arm-chair, very few + visitors, even of the soberest local type, she had been obliged to limit + the number of her interviews with a lady whose costume and manner recalled + to her imagination—Mrs. Acton’s imagination was a marvel—all + that she had ever read of the most stirring historical periods. But she + had sent the Baroness a great many quaintly-worded messages and a great + many nosegays from her garden and baskets of beautiful fruit. Felix had + eaten the fruit, and the Baroness had arranged the flowers and returned + the baskets and the messages. On the day that followed that rainy Sunday + of which mention has been made, Eugenia determined to go and pay the + beneficent invalid a <i>“visite d’adieux”</i>; so it was that, to herself, she + qualified her enterprise. It may be noted that neither on the Sunday + evening nor on the Monday morning had she received that expected visit + from Robert Acton. To his own consciousness, evidently he was “keeping + away;” and as the Baroness, on her side, was keeping away from her + uncle’s, whither, for several days, Felix had been the unembarrassed + bearer of apologies and regrets for absence, chance had not taken the + cards from the hands of design. Mr. Wentworth and his daughters had + respected Eugenia’s seclusion; certain intervals of mysterious retirement + appeared to them, vaguely, a natural part of the graceful, rhythmic + movement of so remarkable a life. Gertrude especially held these periods + in honor; she wondered what Madame Münster did at such times, but she + would not have permitted herself to inquire too curiously. + </p> + <p> + The long rain had freshened the air, and twelve hours’ brilliant sunshine + had dried the roads; so that the Baroness, in the late afternoon, + proposing to walk to Mrs. Acton’s, exposed herself to no great discomfort. + As with her charming undulating step she moved along the clean, grassy + margin of the road, beneath the thickly-hanging boughs of the orchards, + through the quiet of the hour and place and the rich maturity of the + summer, she was even conscious of a sort of luxurious melancholy. The + Baroness had the amiable weakness of attaching herself to places—even + when she had begun with a little aversion; and now, with the prospect of + departure, she felt tenderly toward this well-wooded corner of the Western + world, where the sunsets were so beautiful and one’s ambitions were so + pure. Mrs. Acton was able to receive her; but on entering this lady’s + large, freshly-scented room the Baroness saw that she was looking very + ill. She was wonderfully white and transparent, and, in her flowered + arm-chair, she made no attempt to move. But she flushed a little—like + a young girl, the Baroness thought—and she rested her clear, smiling + eyes upon those of her visitor. Her voice was low and monotonous, like a + voice that had never expressed any human passions. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to bid you good-bye,” said Eugenia. “I shall soon be going + away.” + </p> + <p> + “When are you going away?” + </p> + <p> + “Very soon—any day.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry,” said Mrs. Acton. “I hoped you would stay—always.” + </p> + <p> + “Always?” Eugenia demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I mean a long time,” said Mrs. Acton, in her sweet, feeble tone. + “They tell me you are so comfortable—that you have got such a + beautiful little house.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia stared—that is, she smiled; she thought of her poor little + chalet and she wondered whether her hostess were jesting. “Yes, my house + is exquisite,” she said; “though not to be compared to yours.” + </p> + <p> + “And my son is so fond of going to see you,” Mrs. Acton added. “I am + afraid my son will miss you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, dear madam,” said Eugenia, with a little laugh, “I can’t stay in + America for your son!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you like America?” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness looked at the front of her dress. “If I liked it—that + would not be staying for your son!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Acton gazed at her with her grave, tender eyes, as if she had not + quite understood. The Baroness at last found something irritating in the + sweet, soft stare of her hostess; and if one were not bound to be merciful + to great invalids she would almost have taken the liberty of pronouncing + her, mentally, a fool. “I am afraid, then, I shall never see you again,” + said Mrs. Acton. “You know I am dying.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, dear madam,” murmured Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “I want to leave my children cheerful and happy. My daughter will probably + marry her cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “Two such interesting young people,” said the Baroness, vaguely. She was + not thinking of Clifford Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “I feel so tranquil about my end,” Mrs. Acton went on. “It is coming so + easily, so surely.” And she paused, with her mild gaze always on + Eugenia’s. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness hated to be reminded of death; but even in its imminence, so + far as Mrs. Acton was concerned, she preserved her good manners. “Ah, + madam, you are too charming an invalid,” she rejoined. + </p> + <p> + But the delicacy of this rejoinder was apparently lost upon her hostess, + who went on in her low, reasonable voice. “I want to leave my children + bright and comfortable. You seem to me all so happy here—just as you + are. So I wish you could stay. It would be so pleasant for Robert.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia wondered what she meant by its being pleasant for Robert; but she + felt that she would never know what such a woman as that meant. She got + up; she was afraid Mrs. Acton would tell her again that she was dying. + “Good-bye, dear madam,” she said. “I must remember that your strength is + precious.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Acton took her hand and held it a moment. “Well, you <i>have</i> been happy + here, haven’t you? And you like us all, don’t you? I wish you would + stay,” she added, “in your beautiful little house.” + </p> + <p> + She had told Eugenia that her waiting-woman would be in the hall, to show + her downstairs; but the large landing outside her door was empty, and + Eugenia stood there looking about. She felt irritated; the dying lady had + not <i>“la main heureuse.”</i> She passed slowly downstairs, still looking + about. The broad staircase made a great bend, and in the angle was a high + window, looking westward, with a deep bench, covered with a row of + flowering plants in curious old pots of blue china-ware. The yellow + afternoon light came in through the flowers and flickered a little on the + white wainscots. Eugenia paused a moment; the house was perfectly still, + save for the ticking, somewhere, of a great clock. The lower hall + stretched away at the foot of the stairs, half covered over with a large + Oriental rug. Eugenia lingered a little, noticing a great many things. + <i>“Comme c’est bien!”</i> she said to herself; such a large, solid, + irreproachable basis of existence the place seemed to her to indicate. And + then she reflected that Mrs. Acton was soon to withdraw from it. The + reflection accompanied her the rest of the way downstairs, where she + paused again, making more observations. The hall was extremely broad, and + on either side of the front door was a wide, deeply-set window, which + threw the shadows of everything back into the house. There were + high-backed chairs along the wall and big Eastern vases upon tables, and, + on either side, a large cabinet with a glass front and little curiosities + within, dimly gleaming. The doors were open—into the darkened + parlor, the library, the dining-room. All these rooms seemed empty. + Eugenia passed along, and stopped a moment on the threshold of each. + <i>“Comme c’est bien!”</i> she murmured again; she had thought of just such a + house as this when she decided to come to America. She opened the front + door for herself—her light tread had summoned none of the servants—and + on the threshold she gave a last look. Outside, she was still in the humor + for curious contemplation; so instead of going directly down the little + drive, to the gate, she wandered away towards the garden, which lay to the + right of the house. She had not gone many yards over the grass before she + paused quickly; she perceived a gentleman stretched upon the level + verdure, beneath a tree. He had not heard her coming, and he lay + motionless, flat on his back, with his hands clasped under his head, + staring up at the sky; so that the Baroness was able to reflect, at her + leisure, upon the question of his identity. It was that of a person who + had lately been much in her thoughts; but her first impulse, nevertheless, + was to turn away; the last thing she desired was to have the air of coming + in quest of Robert Acton. The gentleman on the grass, however, gave her no + time to decide; he could not long remain unconscious of so agreeable a + presence. He rolled back his eyes, stared, gave an exclamation, and then + jumped up. He stood an instant, looking at her. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse my ridiculous position,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I have just now no sense of the ridiculous. But, in case you have, don’t + imagine I came to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care,” rejoined Acton, “how you put it into my head! I was thinking + of you.” + </p> + <p> + “The occupation of extreme leisure!” said the Baroness. “To think of a + woman when you are in that position is no compliment.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say I was thinking well!” Acton affirmed, smiling. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him, and then she turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Though I didn’t come to see you,” she said, “remember at least that I am + within your gates.” + </p> + <p> + “I am delighted—I am honored! Won’t you come into the house?” + </p> + <p> + “I have just come out of it. I have been calling upon your mother. I have + been bidding her farewell.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell?” Acton demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I am going away,” said the Baroness. And she turned away again, as if to + illustrate her meaning. + </p> + <p> + “When are you going?” asked Acton, standing a moment in his place. But the + Baroness made no answer, and he followed her. + </p> + <p> + “I came this way to look at your garden,” she said, walking back to the + gate, over the grass. “But I must go.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me at least go with you.” He went with her, and they said nothing + till they reached the gate. It was open, and they looked down the road + which was darkened over with long bosky shadows. “Must you go straight + home?” Acton asked. + </p> + <p> + But she made no answer. She said, after a moment, “Why have you not been + to see me?” He said nothing, and then she went on, “Why don’t you answer + me?” + </p> + <p> + “I am trying to invent an answer,” Acton confessed. + </p> + <p> + “Have you none ready?” + </p> + <p> + “None that I can tell you,” he said. “But let me walk with you now.” + </p> + <p> + “You may do as you like.” + </p> + <p> + She moved slowly along the road, and Acton went with her. Presently he + said, “If I had done as I liked I would have come to see you several + times.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that invented?” asked Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “No, that is natural. I stayed away because——” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, here comes the reason, then!” + </p> + <p> + “Because I wanted to think about you.” + </p> + <p> + “Because you wanted to lie down!” said the Baroness. “I have seen you lie + down—almost—in my drawing-room.” + </p> + <p> + Acton stopped in the road, with a movement which seemed to beg her to + linger a little. She paused, and he looked at her awhile; he thought her + very charming. “You are jesting,” he said; “but if you are really going + away it is very serious.” + </p> + <p> + “If I stay,” and she gave a little laugh, “it is more serious still!” + </p> + <p> + “When shall you go?” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “And why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I stay?” + </p> + <p> + “Because we all admire you so.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not a reason. I am admired also in Europe.” And she began to walk + homeward again. + </p> + <p> + “What could I say to keep you?” asked Acton. He wanted to keep her, and it + was a fact that he had been thinking of her for a week. He was in love + with her now; he was conscious of that, or he thought he was; and the only + question with him was whether he could trust her. + </p> + <p> + “What you can say to keep me?” she repeated. “As I want very much to go it + is not in my interest to tell you. Besides, I can’t imagine.” + </p> + <p> + He went on with her in silence; he was much more affected by what she had + told him than appeared. Ever since that evening of his return from Newport + her image had had a terrible power to trouble him. What Clifford Wentworth + had told him—that had affected him, too, in an adverse sense; but it + had not liberated him from the discomfort of a charm of which his + intelligence was impatient. “She is not honest, she is not honest,” he + kept murmuring to himself. That is what he had been saying to the summer + sky, ten minutes before. Unfortunately, he was unable to say it finally, + definitively; and now that he was near her it seemed to matter wonderfully + little. “She is a woman who will lie,” he had said to himself. Now, as he + went along, he reminded himself of this observation; but it failed to + frighten him as it had done before. He almost wished he could make her lie + and then convict her of it, so that he might see how he should like that. + He kept thinking of this as he walked by her side, while she moved forward + with her light, graceful dignity. He had sat with her before; he had + driven with her; but he had never walked with her. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, how <i>comme il faut</i> she is!” he said, as he observed her sidewise. + When they reached the cottage in the orchard she passed into the gate + without asking him to follow; but she turned round, as he stood there, to + bid him good-night. + </p> + <p> + “I asked you a question the other night which you never answered,” he + said. “Have you sent off that document—liberating yourself?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated for a single moment—very naturally. Then, “Yes,” she + said, simply. + </p> + <p> + He turned away; he wondered whether that would do for his lie. But he saw + her again that evening, for the Baroness reappeared at her uncle’s. He had + little talk with her, however; two gentlemen had driven out from Boston, + in a buggy, to call upon Mr. Wentworth and his daughters, and Madame + Münster was an object of absorbing interest to both of the visitors. One + of them, indeed, said nothing to her; he only sat and watched with intense + gravity, and leaned forward solemnly, presenting his ear (a very large + one), as if he were deaf, whenever she dropped an observation. He had + evidently been impressed with the idea of her misfortunes and reverses: he + never smiled. His companion adopted a lighter, easier style; sat as near + as possible to Madame Münster; attempted to draw her out, and proposed + every few moments a new topic of conversation. Eugenia was less vividly + responsive than usual and had less to say than, from her brilliant + reputation, her interlocutor expected, upon the relative merits of + European and American institutions; but she was inaccessible to Robert + Acton, who roamed about the piazza with his hands in his pockets, + listening for the grating sound of the buggy from Boston, as it should be + brought round to the side-door. But he listened in vain, and at last he + lost patience. His sister came to him and begged him to take her home, and + he presently went off with her. Eugenia observed him leaving the house + with Lizzie; in her present mood the fact seemed a contribution to her + irritated conviction that he had several precious qualities. “Even that + <i>mal-élevée</i> little girl,” she reflected, “makes him do what she wishes.” + </p> + <p> + She had been sitting just within one of the long windows that opened upon + the piazza; but very soon after Acton had gone away she got up abruptly, + just when the talkative gentleman from Boston was asking her what she + thought of the “moral tone” of that city. On the piazza she encountered + Clifford Wentworth, coming round from the other side of the house. She + stopped him; she told him she wished to speak to him. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you go home with your cousin?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Clifford stared. “Why, Robert has taken her,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly so. But you don’t usually leave that to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Clifford, “I want to see those fellows start off. They don’t + know how to drive.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not, then, that you have quarreled with your cousin?” + </p> + <p> + Clifford reflected a moment, and then with a simplicity which had, for the + Baroness, a singularly baffling quality, “Oh, no; we have made up!” he + said. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him for some moments; but Clifford had begun to be afraid of + the Baroness’s looks, and he endeavored, now, to shift himself out of + their range. “Why do you never come to see me any more?” she asked. “Have + I displeased you?” + </p> + <p> + “Displeased me? Well, I guess not!” said Clifford, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Why haven’t you come, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, because I am afraid of getting shut up in that back room.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia kept looking at him. “I should think you would like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Like it!” cried Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “I should, if I were a young man calling upon a charming woman.” + </p> + <p> + “A charming woman isn’t much use to me when I am shut up in that back + room!” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I am not of much use to you anywhere!” said Madame Münster. + “And yet you know how I have offered to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” observed Clifford, by way of response, “there comes the buggy.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind the buggy. Do you know I am going away?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean now?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean in a few days. I leave this place.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going back to Europe?” + </p> + <p> + “To Europe, where you are to come and see me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I’ll come out there,” said Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “But before that,” Eugenia declared, “you must come and see me here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I shall keep clear of that back room!” rejoined her simple young + kinsman. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was silent a moment. “Yes, you must come frankly—boldly. + That will be very much better. I see that now.” + </p> + <p> + “I see it!” said Clifford. And then, in an instant, “What’s the matter + with that buggy?” His practiced ear had apparently detected an unnatural + creak in the wheels of the light vehicle which had been brought to the + portico, and he hurried away to investigate so grave an anomaly. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness walked homeward, alone, in the starlight, asking herself a + question. Was she to have gained nothing—was she to have gained + nothing? + </p> + <p> + Gertrude Wentworth had held a silent place in the little circle gathered + about the two gentlemen from Boston. She was not interested in the + visitors; she was watching Madame Münster, as she constantly watched her. + She knew that Eugenia also was not interested—that she was bored; + and Gertrude was absorbed in study of the problem how, in spite of her + indifference and her absent attention, she managed to have such a charming + manner. That was the manner Gertrude would have liked to have; she + determined to cultivate it, and she wished that—to give her the + charm—she might in future very often be bored. While she was engaged + in these researches, Felix Young was looking for Charlotte, to whom he had + something to say. For some time, now, he had had something to say to + Charlotte, and this evening his sense of the propriety of holding some + special conversation with her had reached the motive-point—resolved + itself into acute and delightful desire. He wandered through the empty + rooms on the large ground-floor of the house, and found her at last in a + small apartment denominated, for reasons not immediately apparent, Mr. + Wentworth’s “office:” an extremely neat and well-dusted room, with an + array of law-books, in time-darkened sheep-skin, on one of the walls; a + large map of the United States on the other, flanked on either side by an + old steel engraving of one of Raphael’s Madonnas; and on the third several + glass cases containing specimens of butterflies and beetles. Charlotte was + sitting by a lamp, embroidering a slipper. Felix did not ask for whom the + slipper was destined; he saw it was very large. + </p> + <p> + He moved a chair toward her and sat down, smiling as usual, but, at first, + not speaking. She watched him, with her needle poised, and with a certain + shy, fluttered look which she always wore when he approached her. There + was something in Felix’s manner that quickened her modesty, her + self-consciousness; if absolute choice had been given her she would have + preferred never to find herself alone with him; and in fact, though she + thought him a most brilliant, distinguished, and well-meaning person, she + had exercised a much larger amount of tremulous tact than he had ever + suspected, to circumvent the accident of <i>tête-à-tête</i>. Poor Charlotte could + have given no account of the matter that would not have seemed unjust both + to herself and to her foreign kinsman; she could only have said—or + rather, she would never have said it—that she did not like so much + gentleman’s society at once. She was not reassured, accordingly, when he + began, emphasizing his words with a kind of admiring radiance, “My dear + cousin, I am enchanted at finding you alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very often alone,” Charlotte observed. Then she quickly added, “I + don’t mean I am lonely!” + </p> + <p> + “So clever a woman as you is never lonely,” said Felix. “You have company + in your beautiful work.” And he glanced at the big slipper. + </p> + <p> + “I like to work,” declared Charlotte, simply. + </p> + <p> + “So do I!” said her companion. “And I like to idle too. But it is not to + idle that I have come in search of you. I want to tell you something very + particular.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” murmured Charlotte; “of course, if you must——” + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin,” said Felix, “it’s nothing that a young lady may not + listen to. At least I suppose it isn’t. But <i>voyons</i>; you shall judge. I am + terribly in love.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Felix,” began Miss Wentworth, gravely. But her very gravity + appeared to check the development of her phrase. + </p> + <p> + “I am in love with your sister; but in love, Charlotte—in love!” the + young man pursued. Charlotte had laid her work in her lap; her hands were + tightly folded on top of it; she was staring at the carpet. “In short, I’m + in love, dear lady,” said Felix. “Now I want you to help me.” + </p> + <p> + “To help you?” asked Charlotte, with a tremor. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean with Gertrude; she and I have a perfect understanding; and + oh, how well she understands one! I mean with your father and with the + world in general, including Mr. Brand.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Mr. Brand!” said Charlotte, slowly, but with a simplicity which made + it evident to Felix that the young minister had not repeated to Miss + Wentworth the talk that had lately occurred between them. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, now, don’t say ‘poor’ Mr. Brand! I don’t pity Mr. Brand at all. But I + pity your father a little, and I don’t want to displease him. Therefore, + you see, I want you to plead for me. You don’t think me very shabby, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Shabby?” exclaimed Charlotte softly, for whom Felix represented the most + polished and iridescent qualities of mankind. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean in my appearance,” rejoined Felix, laughing; for Charlotte + was looking at his boots. “I mean in my conduct. You don’t think it’s an + abuse of hospitality?” + </p> + <p> + “To—to care for Gertrude?” asked Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “To have really expressed one’s self. Because I <i>have</i> expressed myself, + Charlotte; I must tell you the whole truth—I have! Of course I want + to marry her—and here is the difficulty. I held off as long as I + could; but she is such a terribly fascinating person! She’s a strange + creature, Charlotte; I don’t believe you really know her.” Charlotte took + up her tapestry again, and again she laid it down. “I know your father has + had higher views,” Felix continued; “and I think you have shared them. You + have wanted to marry her to Mr. Brand.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Charlotte, very earnestly. “Mr. Brand has always admired + her. But we did not want anything of that kind.” + </p> + <p> + Felix stared. “Surely, marriage was what you proposed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but we didn’t wish to force her.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>A la bonne heure!</i> That’s very unsafe you know. With these arranged + marriages there is often the deuce to pay.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Felix,” said Charlotte, “we didn’t want to ‘arrange.’” + </p> + <p> + “I am delighted to hear that. Because in such cases—even when the + woman is a thoroughly good creature—she can’t help looking for a + compensation. A charming fellow comes along—and <i>voilà!</i>” Charlotte + sat mutely staring at the floor, and Felix presently added, “Do go on with + your slipper, I like to see you work.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte took up her variegated canvas, and began to draw vague blue + stitches in a big round rose. “If Gertrude is so—so strange,” she + said, “why do you want to marry her?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s it, dear Charlotte! I like strange women; I always have liked + them. Ask Eugenia! And Gertrude is wonderful; she says the most beautiful + things!” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte looked at him, almost for the first time, as if her meaning + required to be severely pointed. “You have a great influence over her.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and no!” said Felix. “I had at first, I think; but now it is + six of one and half-a-dozen of the other; it is reciprocal. She affects me + strongly—for she <i>is</i> so strong. I don’t believe you know her; it’s a + beautiful nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Felix; I have always thought Gertrude’s nature beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you think so now,” cried the young man, “wait and see! She’s a + folded flower. Let me pluck her from the parent tree and you will see her + expand. I’m sure you will enjoy it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you,” murmured Charlotte. “I <i>can’t</i>, Felix.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can understand this—that I beg you to say a good word for + me to your father. He regards me, I naturally believe, as a very light + fellow, a Bohemian, an irregular character. Tell him I am not all this; if + I ever was, I have forgotten it. I am fond of pleasure—yes; but of + innocent pleasure. Pain is all one; but in pleasure, you know, there are + tremendous distinctions. Say to him that Gertrude is a folded flower and + that I am a serious man!” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte got up from her chair slowly rolling up her work. “We know you + are very kind to everyone, Felix,” she said. “But we are extremely sorry + for Mr. Brand.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you are—you especially! Because,” added Felix hastily, + “you are a woman. But I don’t pity him. It ought to be enough for any man + that you take an interest in him.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not enough for Mr. Brand,” said Charlotte, simply. And she stood + there a moment, as if waiting conscientiously for anything more that Felix + might have to say. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Brand is not so keen about his marriage as he was,” he presently + said. “He is afraid of your sister. He begins to think she is wicked.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte looked at him now with beautiful, appealing eyes—eyes into + which he saw the tears rising. “Oh, Felix, Felix,” she cried, “what have + you done to her?” + </p> + <p> + “I think she was asleep; I have waked her up!” + </p> + <p> + But Charlotte, apparently, was really crying, she walked straight out of + the room. And Felix, standing there and meditating, had the apparent + brutality to take satisfaction in her tears. + </p> + <p> + Late that night Gertrude, silent and serious, came to him in the garden; + it was a kind of appointment. Gertrude seemed to like appointments. She + plucked a handful of heliotrope and stuck it into the front of her dress, + but she said nothing. They walked together along one of the paths, and + Felix looked at the great, square, hospitable house, massing itself + vaguely in the starlight, with all its windows darkened. + </p> + <p> + “I have a little of a bad conscience,” he said. “I oughtn’t to meet you + this way till I have got your father’s consent.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at him for some time. “I don’t understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “You very often say that,” he said. “Considering how little we understand + each other, it is a wonder how well we get on!” + </p> + <p> + “We have done nothing but meet since you came here—but meet alone. + The first time I ever saw you we were alone,” Gertrude went on. “What is + the difference now? Is it because it is at night?” + </p> + <p> + “The difference, Gertrude,” said Felix, stopping in the path, “the + difference is that I love you more—more than before!” And then they + stood there, talking, in the warm stillness and in front of the closed + dark house. “I have been talking to Charlotte—been trying to bespeak + her interest with your father. She has a kind of sublime perversity; was + ever a woman so bent upon cutting off her own head?” + </p> + <p> + “You are too careful,” said Gertrude; “you are too diplomatic.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” cried the young man, “I didn’t come here to make anyone + unhappy!” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked round her awhile in the odorous darkness. “I will do + anything you please,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “For instance?” asked Felix, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I will go away. I will do anything you please.” + </p> + <p> + Felix looked at her in solemn admiration. “Yes, we will go away,” he said. + “But we will make peace first.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked about her again, and then she broke out, passionately, + “Why do they try to make one feel guilty? Why do they make it so + difficult? Why can’t they understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I will make them understand!” said Felix. He drew her hand into his arm, + and they wandered about in the garden, talking, for an hour. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Felix allowed Charlotte time to plead his cause; and then, on the third + day, he sought an interview with his uncle. It was in the morning; Mr. + Wentworth was in his office; and, on going in, Felix found that Charlotte + was at that moment in conference with her father. She had, in fact, been + constantly near him since her interview with Felix; she had made up her + mind that it was her duty to repeat very literally her cousin’s passionate + plea. She had accordingly followed Mr. Wentworth about like a shadow, in + order to find him at hand when she should have mustered sufficient + composure to speak. For poor Charlotte, in this matter, naturally lacked + composure; especially when she meditated upon some of Felix’s intimations. + It was not cheerful work, at the best, to keep giving small hammer-taps to + the coffin in which one had laid away, for burial, the poor little + unacknowledged offspring of one’s own misbehaving heart; and the + occupation was not rendered more agreeable by the fact that the ghost of + one’s stifled dream had been summoned from the shades by the strange, bold + words of a talkative young foreigner. What had Felix meant by saying that + Mr. Brand was not so keen? To herself her sister’s justly depressed suitor + had shown no sign of faltering. Charlotte trembled all over when she + allowed herself to believe for an instant now and then that, privately, + Mr. Brand might have faltered; and as it seemed to give more force to + Felix’s words to repeat them to her father, she was waiting until she + should have taught herself to be very calm. But she had now begun to tell + Mr. Wentworth that she was extremely anxious. She was proceeding to + develop this idea, to enumerate the objects of her anxiety, when Felix + came in. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth sat there, with his legs crossed, lifting his dry, pure + countenance from the Boston <i>Advertiser</i>. Felix entered smiling, as if he + had something particular to say, and his uncle looked at him as if he both + expected and deprecated this event. Felix vividly expressing himself had + come to be a formidable figure to his uncle, who had not yet arrived at + definite views as to a proper tone. For the first time in his life, as I + have said, Mr. Wentworth shirked a responsibility; he earnestly desired + that it might not be laid upon him to determine how his nephew’s lighter + propositions should be treated. He lived under an apprehension that Felix + might yet beguile him into assent to doubtful inductions, and his + conscience instructed him that the best form of vigilance was the + avoidance of discussion. He hoped that the pleasant episode of his + nephew’s visit would pass away without a further lapse of consistency. + </p> + <p> + Felix looked at Charlotte with an air of understanding, and then at Mr. + Wentworth, and then at Charlotte again. Mr. Wentworth bent his refined + eyebrows upon his nephew and stroked down the first page of the + <i>Advertiser</i>. “I ought to have brought a bouquet,” said Felix, laughing. + “In France they always do.” + </p> + <p> + “We are not in France,” observed Mr. Wentworth, gravely, while Charlotte + earnestly gazed at him. + </p> + <p> + “No, luckily, we are not in France, where I am afraid I should have a + harder time of it. My dear Charlotte, have you rendered me that delightful + service?” And Felix bent toward her as if someone had been presenting + him. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte looked at him with almost frightened eyes; and Mr. Wentworth + thought this might be the beginning of a discussion. “What is the bouquet + for?” he inquired, by way of turning it off. + </p> + <p> + Felix gazed at him, smiling. <i>“Pour la demande!”</i> And then, drawing up a + chair, he seated himself, hat in hand, with a kind of conscious solemnity. + </p> + <p> + Presently he turned to Charlotte again. “My good Charlotte, my admirable + Charlotte,” he murmured, “you have not played me false—you have not + sided against me?” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte got up, trembling extremely, though imperceptibly. “You must + speak to my father yourself,” she said. “I think you are clever enough.” + </p> + <p> + But Felix, rising too, begged her to remain. “I can speak better to an + audience!” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “I hope it is nothing disagreeable,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “It’s something delightful, for me!” And Felix, laying down his hat, + clasped his hands a little between his knees. “My dear uncle,” he said, “I + desire, very earnestly, to marry your daughter Gertrude.” Charlotte sank + slowly into her chair again, and Mr. Wentworth sat staring, with a light + in his face that might have been flashed back from an iceberg. He stared + and stared; he said nothing. Felix fell back, with his hands still + clasped. “Ah—you don’t like it. I was afraid!” He blushed deeply, + and Charlotte noticed it—remarking to herself that it was the first + time she had ever seen him blush. She began to blush herself and to + reflect that he might be much in love. + </p> + <p> + “This is very abrupt,” said Mr. Wentworth, at last. + </p> + <p> + “Have you never suspected it, dear uncle?” Felix inquired. “Well, that + proves how discreet I have been. Yes, I thought you wouldn’t like it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very serious, Felix,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “You think it’s an abuse of hospitality!” exclaimed Felix, smiling again. + </p> + <p> + “Of hospitality?—an abuse?” his uncle repeated very slowly. + </p> + <p> + “That is what Felix said to me,” said Charlotte, conscientiously. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you think so; don’t defend yourself!” Felix pursued. “It <i>is</i> an + abuse, obviously; the most I can claim is that it is perhaps a pardonable + one. I simply fell head over heels in love; one can hardly help that. + Though you are Gertrude’s progenitor I don’t believe you know how + attractive she is. Dear uncle, she contains the elements of a singularly—I + may say a strangely—charming woman!” + </p> + <p> + “She has always been to me an object of extreme concern,” said Mr. + Wentworth. “We have always desired her happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, here it is!” Felix declared. “I will make her happy. She believes + it, too. Now hadn’t you noticed that?” + </p> + <p> + “I had noticed that she was much changed,” Mr. Wentworth declared, in a + tone whose unexpressive, unimpassioned quality appeared to Felix to reveal + a profundity of opposition. “It may be that she is only becoming what you + call a charming woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude, at heart, is so earnest, so true,” said Charlotte, very softly, + fastening her eyes upon her father. + </p> + <p> + “I delight to hear you praise her!” cried Felix. + </p> + <p> + “She has a very peculiar temperament,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, even that is praise!” Felix rejoined. “I know I am not the man you + might have looked for. I have no position and no fortune; I can give + Gertrude no place in the world. A place in the world—that’s what + she ought to have; that would bring her out.” + </p> + <p> + “A place to do her duty!” remarked Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, how charmingly she does it—her duty!” Felix exclaimed, with a + radiant face. “What an exquisite conception she has of it! But she comes + honestly by that, dear uncle.” Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte both looked at + him as if they were watching a greyhound doubling. “Of course with me she + will hide her light under a bushel,” he continued; “I being the bushel! + Now I know you like me—you have certainly proved it. But you think I + am frivolous and penniless and shabby! Granted—granted—a + thousand times granted. I have been a loose fish—a fiddler, a + painter, an actor. But there is this to be said: In the first place, I + fancy you exaggerate; you lend me qualities I haven’t had. I have been a + Bohemian—yes; but in Bohemia I always passed for a gentleman. I wish + you could see some of my old <i>camarades</i>—they would tell you! It was + the liberty I liked, but not the opportunities! My sins were all + peccadilloes; I always respected my neighbor’s property—my + neighbor’s wife. Do you see, dear uncle?” Mr. Wentworth ought to have + seen; his cold blue eyes were intently fixed. “And then, <i>c’est fini!</i> It’s + all over. <i>Je me range</i>. I have settled down to a jog-trot. I find I can + earn my living—a very fair one—by going about the world and + painting bad portraits. It’s not a glorious profession, but it is a + perfectly respectable one. You won’t deny that, eh? Going about the world, + I say? I must not deny that, for that I am afraid I shall always do—in + quest of agreeable sitters. When I say agreeable, I mean susceptible of + delicate flattery and prompt of payment. Gertrude declares she is willing + to share my wanderings and help to pose my models. She even thinks it will + be charming; and that brings me to my third point. Gertrude likes me. + Encourage her a little and she will tell you so.” + </p> + <p> + Felix’s tongue obviously moved much faster than the imagination of his + auditors; his eloquence, like the rocking of a boat in a deep, smooth + lake, made long eddies of silence. And he seemed to be pleading and + chattering still, with his brightly eager smile, his uplifted eyebrows, + his expressive mouth, after he had ceased speaking, and while, with his + glance quickly turning from the father to the daughter, he sat waiting for + the effect of his appeal. “It is not your want of means,” said Mr. + Wentworth, after a period of severe reticence. + </p> + <p> + “Now it’s delightful of you to say that! Only don’t say it’s my want of + character. Because I have a character—I assure you I have; a small + one, a little slip of a thing, but still something tangible.” + </p> + <p> + “Ought you not to tell Felix that it is Mr. Brand, father?” Charlotte + asked, with infinite mildness. + </p> + <p> + “It is not only Mr. Brand,” Mr. Wentworth solemnly declared. And he looked + at his knee for a long time. “It is difficult to explain,” he said. He + wished, evidently, to be very just. “It rests on moral grounds, as Mr. + Brand says. It is the question whether it is the best thing for Gertrude.” + </p> + <p> + “What is better—what is better, dear uncle?” Felix rejoined + urgently, rising in his urgency and standing before Mr. Wentworth. His + uncle had been looking at his knee; but when Felix moved he transferred + his gaze to the handle of the door which faced him. “It is usually a + fairly good thing for a girl to marry the man she loves!” cried Felix. + </p> + <p> + While he spoke, Mr. Wentworth saw the handle of the door begin to turn; + the door opened and remained slightly ajar, until Felix had delivered + himself of the cheerful axiom just quoted. Then it opened altogether and + Gertrude stood there. She looked excited; there was a spark in her sweet, + dull eyes. She came in slowly, but with an air of resolution, and, closing + the door softly, looked round at the three persons present. Felix went to + her with tender gallantry, holding out his hand, and Charlotte made a + place for her on the sofa. But Gertrude put her hands behind her and made + no motion to sit down. + </p> + <p> + “We are talking of you!” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” she answered. “That’s why I came.” And she fastened her eyes + on her father, who returned her gaze very fixedly. In his own cold blue + eyes there was a kind of pleading, reasoning light. + </p> + <p> + “It is better you should be present,” said Mr. Wentworth. “We are + discussing your future.” + </p> + <p> + “Why discuss it?” asked Gertrude. “Leave it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “That is, to me!” cried Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I leave it, in the last resort, to a greater wisdom than ours,” said the + old man. + </p> + <p> + Felix rubbed his forehead gently. “But <i>en attendant</i> the last resort, your + father lacks confidence,” he said to Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you confidence in Felix?” Gertrude was frowning; there was + something about her that her father and Charlotte had never seen. + Charlotte got up and came to her, as if to put her arm round her; but + suddenly, she seemed afraid to touch her. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth, however, was not afraid. “I have had more confidence in + Felix than in you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you have never had confidence in me—never, never! I don’t know + why.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh sister, sister!” murmured Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “You have always needed advice,” Mr. Wentworth declared. “You have had a + difficult temperament.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you call it difficult? It might have been easy, if you had allowed + it. You wouldn’t let me be natural. I don’t know what you wanted to make + of me. Mr. Brand was the worst.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte at last took hold of her sister. She laid her two hands upon + Gertrude’s arm. “He cares so much for you,” she almost whispered. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at her intently an instant; then kissed her. “No, he does + not,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I have never seen you so passionate,” observed Mr. Wentworth, with an air + of indignation mitigated by high principles. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry if I offend you,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “You offend me, but I don’t think you are sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father, she is sorry,” said Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “I would even go further, dear uncle,” Felix interposed. “I would question + whether she really offends you. How can she offend you?” + </p> + <p> + To this Mr. Wentworth made no immediate answer. Then, in a moment, “She + has not profited as we hoped.” + </p> + <p> + “Profited? <i>Ah voilà!</i>” Felix exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude was very pale; she stood looking down. “I have told Felix I would + go away with him,” she presently said. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have said some admirable things!” cried the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Go away, sister?” asked Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “Away—away; to some strange country.” + </p> + <p> + “That is to frighten you,” said Felix, smiling at Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “To—what do you call it?” asked Gertrude, turning an instant to + Felix. “To Bohemia.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you propose to dispense with preliminaries?” asked Mr. Wentworth, + getting up. + </p> + <p> + “Dear uncle, <i>vous plaisantez!</i>” cried Felix. “It seems to me that these are + preliminaries.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude turned to her father. “I <i>have</i> profited,” she said. “You wanted to + form my character. Well, my character is formed—for my age. I know + what I want; I have chosen. I am determined to marry this gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better consent, sir,” said Felix very gently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, you had better consent,” added a very different voice. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte gave a little jump, and the others turned to the direction from + which it had come. It was the voice of Mr. Brand, who had stepped through + the long window which stood open to the piazza. He stood patting his + forehead with his pocket-handkerchief; he was very much flushed; his face + wore a singular expression. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, you had better consent,” Mr. Brand repeated, coming forward. “I + know what Miss Gertrude means.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend!” murmured Felix, laying his hand caressingly on the young + minister’s arm. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand looked at him; then at Mr. Wentworth; lastly at Gertrude. He did + not look at Charlotte. But Charlotte’s earnest eyes were fastened to his + own countenance; they were asking an immense question of it. The answer to + this question could not come all at once; but some of the elements of it + were there. It was one of the elements of it that Mr. Brand was very red, + that he held his head very high, that he had a bright, excited eye and an + air of embarrassed boldness—the air of a man who has taken a + resolve, in the execution of which he apprehends the failure, not of his + moral, but of his personal, resources. Charlotte thought he looked very + grand; and it is incontestable that Mr. Brand felt very grand. This, in + fact, was the grandest moment of his life; and it was natural that such a + moment should contain opportunities of awkwardness for a large, stout, + modest young man. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, sir,” said Mr. Wentworth, with an angular wave of his hand. “It + is very proper that you should be present.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you are talking about,” Mr. Brand rejoined. “I heard what + your nephew said.” + </p> + <p> + “And he heard what you said!” exclaimed Felix, patting him again on the + arm. + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure that I understood,” said Mr. Wentworth, who had angularity + in his voice as well as in his gestures. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had been looking hard at her former suitor. She had been puzzled, + like her sister; but her imagination moved more quickly than Charlotte’s. + “Mr. Brand asked you to let Felix take me away,” she said to her father. + </p> + <p> + The young minister gave her a strange look. “It is not because I don’t + want to see you any more,” he declared, in a tone intended as it were for + publicity. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t think you would want to see me any more,” Gertrude answered, + gently. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth stood staring. “Isn’t this rather a change, sir?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” And Mr. Brand looked anywhere; only still not at Charlotte. + “Yes, sir,” he repeated. And he held his handkerchief a few moments to his + lips. + </p> + <p> + “Where are our moral grounds?” demanded Mr. Wentworth, who had always + thought Mr. Brand would be just the thing for a younger daughter with a + peculiar temperament. + </p> + <p> + “It is sometimes very moral to change, you know,” suggested Felix. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte had softly left her sister’s side. She had edged gently toward + her father, and now her hand found its way into his arm. Mr. Wentworth had + folded up the <i>Advertiser</i> into a surprisingly small compass, and, holding + the roll with one hand, he earnestly clasped it with the other. Mr. Brand + was looking at him; and yet, though Charlotte was so near, his eyes failed + to meet her own. Gertrude watched her sister. + </p> + <p> + “It is better not to speak of change,” said Mr. Brand. “In one sense there + is no change. There was something I desired—something I asked of + you; I desire something still—I ask it of you.” And he paused a + moment; Mr. Wentworth looked bewildered. “I should like, in my ministerial + capacity, to unite this young couple.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude, watching her sister, saw Charlotte flushing intensely, and Mr. + Wentworth felt her pressing upon his arm. “Heavenly Powers!” murmured Mr. + Wentworth. And it was the nearest approach to profanity he had ever made. + </p> + <p> + “That is very nice; that is very handsome!” Felix exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” said Mr. Wentworth; though it was plain that + everyone else did. + </p> + <p> + “That is very beautiful, Mr. Brand,” said Gertrude, emulating Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to marry you. It will give me great pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “As Gertrude says, it’s a beautiful idea,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + Felix was smiling, but Mr. Brand was not even trying to. He himself + treated his proposition very seriously. “I have thought of it, and I + should like to do it,” he affirmed. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring with expanded eyes. Her imagination, as + I have said, was not so rapid as her sister’s, but now it had taken + several little jumps. “Father,” she murmured, “consent!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand heard her; he looked away. Mr. Wentworth, evidently, had no + imagination at all. “I have always thought,” he began, slowly, “that + Gertrude’s character required a special line of development.” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” repeated Charlotte, <i>“consent.”</i> + </p> + <p> + Then, at last, Mr. Brand looked at her. Her father felt her leaning more + heavily upon his folded arm than she had ever done before; and this, with + a certain sweet faintness in her voice, made him wonder what was the + matter. He looked down at her and saw the encounter of her gaze with the + young theologian’s; but even this told him nothing, and he continued to be + bewildered. Nevertheless, “I consent,” he said at last, “since Mr. Brand + recommends it.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to perform the ceremony very soon,” observed Mr. Brand, + with a sort of solemn simplicity. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, that’s charming!” cried Felix, profanely. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth sank into his chair. “Doubtless, when you understand it,” he + said, with a certain judicial asperity. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude went to her sister and led her away, and Felix having passed his + arm into Mr. Brand’s and stepped out of the long window with him, the old + man was left sitting there in unillumined perplexity. + </p> + <p> + Felix did no work that day. In the afternoon, with Gertrude, he got into + one of the boats and floated about with idly-dipping oars. They talked a + good deal of Mr. Brand—though not exclusively. + </p> + <p> + “That was a fine stroke,” said Felix. “It was really heroic.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude sat musing, with her eyes upon the ripples. “That was what he + wanted to be; he wanted to do something fine.” + </p> + <p> + “He won’t be comfortable till he has married us,” said Felix. “So much the + better.” + </p> + <p> + “He wanted to be magnanimous; he wanted to have a fine moral pleasure. I + know him so well,” Gertrude went on. Felix looked at her; she spoke + slowly, gazing at the clear water. “He thought of it a great deal, night + and day. He thought it would be beautiful. At last he made up his mind + that it was his duty, his duty to do just that—nothing less than + that. He felt exalted; he felt sublime. That’s how he likes to feel. It + is better for him than if I had listened to him.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s better for me,” smiled Felix. “But do you know, as regards the + sacrifice, that I don’t believe he admired you when this decision was + taken quite so much as he had done a fortnight before?” + </p> + <p> + “He never admired me. He admires Charlotte; he pitied me. I know him so + well.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, he didn’t pity you so much.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at Felix a little, smiling. “You shouldn’t permit + yourself,” she said, “to diminish the splendor of his action. He admires + Charlotte,” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “That’s capital!” said Felix laughingly, and dipping his oars. I cannot + say exactly to which member of Gertrude’s phrase he alluded; but he dipped + his oars again, and they kept floating about. + </p> + <p> + Neither Felix nor his sister, on that day, was present at Mr. Wentworth’s + at the evening repast. The two occupants of the chalet dined together, and + the young man informed his companion that his marriage was now an assured + fact. Eugenia congratulated him, and replied that if he were as reasonable + a husband as he had been, on the whole, a brother, his wife would have + nothing to complain of. + </p> + <p> + Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. “I hope,” he said, “not to be + thrown back on my reason.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very true,” Eugenia rejoined, “that one’s reason is dismally flat. + It’s a bed with the mattress removed.” + </p> + <p> + But the brother and sister, later in the evening, crossed over to the + larger house, the Baroness desiring to compliment her prospective + sister-in-law. They found the usual circle upon the piazza, with the + exception of Clifford Wentworth and Lizzie Acton; and as everyone stood + up as usual to welcome the Baroness, Eugenia had an admiring audience for + her compliment to Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + Robert Acton stood on the edge of the piazza, leaning against one of the + white columns, so that he found himself next to Eugenia while she + acquitted herself of a neat little discourse of congratulation. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be so glad to know you better,” she said; “I have seen so much + less of you than I should have liked. Naturally; now I see the reason why! + You will love me a little, won’t you? I think I may say I gain on being + known.” And terminating these observations with the softest cadence of her + voice, the Baroness imprinted a sort of grand official kiss upon + Gertrude’s forehead. + </p> + <p> + Increased familiarity had not, to Gertrude’s imagination, diminished the + mysterious impressiveness of Eugenia’s personality, and she felt flattered + and transported by this little ceremony. Robert Acton also seemed to + admire it, as he admired so many of the gracious manifestations of Madame + Münster’s wit. + </p> + <p> + They had the privilege of making him restless, and on this occasion he + walked away, suddenly, with his hands in his pockets, and then came back + and leaned against his column. Eugenia was now complimenting her uncle + upon his daughter’s engagement, and Mr. Wentworth was listening with his + usual plain yet refined politeness. It is to be supposed that by this time + his perception of the mutual relations of the young people who surrounded + him had become more acute; but he still took the matter very seriously, + and he was not at all exhilarated. + </p> + <p> + “Felix will make her a good husband,” said Eugenia. “He will be a charming + companion; he has a great quality—indestructible gaiety.” + </p> + <p> + “You think that’s a great quality?” asked the old man. + </p> + <p> + Eugenia meditated, with her eyes upon his. “You think one gets tired of + it, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that I am prepared to say that,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we will say, then, that it is tiresome for others but delightful + for one’s self. A woman’s husband, you know, is supposed to be her second + self; so that, for Felix and Gertrude, gaiety will be a common property.” + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude was always very gay,” said Mr. Wentworth. He was trying to + follow this argument. + </p> + <p> + Robert Acton took his hands out of his pockets and came a little nearer to + the Baroness. “You say you gain by being known,” he said. “One certainly + gains by knowing you.” + </p> + <p> + “What have <i>you</i> gained?” asked Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “An immense amount of wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a questionable advantage for a man who was already so wise!” + </p> + <p> + Acton shook his head. “No, I was a great fool before I knew you!” + </p> + <p> + “And being a fool you made my acquaintance? You are very complimentary.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me keep it up,” said Acton, laughing. “I hope, for our pleasure, that + your brother’s marriage will detain you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I stop for my brother’s marriage when I would not stop for my + own?” asked the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t you stop in either case, now that, as you say, you have + dissolved that mechanical tie that bound you to Europe?” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness looked at him a moment. “As I say? You look as if you doubted + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Acton, returning her glance, “that is a remnant of my old + folly! We have other attractions,” he added. “We are to have another + marriage.” + </p> + <p> + But she seemed not to hear him; she was looking at him still. “My word was + never doubted before,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “We are to have another marriage,” Acton repeated, smiling. + </p> + <p> + Then she appeared to understand. “Another marriage?” And she looked at the + others. Felix was chattering to Gertrude; Charlotte, at a distance, was + watching them; and Mr. Brand, in quite another quarter, was turning his + back to them, and, with his hands under his coat-tails and his large head + on one side, was looking at the small, tender crescent of a young moon. + “It ought to be Mr. Brand and Charlotte,” said Eugenia, “but it doesn’t + look like it.” + </p> + <p> + “There,” Acton answered, “you must judge just now by contraries. There is + more than there looks to be. I expect that combination one of these days; + but that is not what I meant.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Baroness, “I never guess my own lovers; so I can’t guess + other people’s.” + </p> + <p> + Acton gave a loud laugh, and he was about to add a rejoinder when Mr. + Wentworth approached his niece. “You will be interested to hear,” the old + man said, with a momentary aspiration toward jocosity, “of another + matrimonial venture in our little circle.” + </p> + <p> + “I was just telling the Baroness,” Acton observed. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Acton was apparently about to announce his own engagement,” said + Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth’s jocosity increased. “It is not exactly that; but it is in + the family. Clifford, hearing this morning that Mr. Brand had expressed a + desire to tie the nuptial knot for his sister, took it into his head to + arrange that, while his hand was in, our good friend should perform a like + ceremony for himself and Lizzie Acton.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness threw back her head and smiled at her uncle; then turning, + with an intenser radiance, to Robert Acton, “I am certainly very stupid + not to have thought of that,” she said. Acton looked down at his boots, as + if he thought he had perhaps reached the limits of legitimate + experimentation, and for a moment Eugenia said nothing more. It had been, + in fact, a sharp knock, and she needed to recover herself. This was done, + however, promptly enough. “Where are the young people?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “They are spending the evening with my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Is not the thing very sudden?” + </p> + <p> + Acton looked up. “Extremely sudden. There had been a tacit understanding; + but within a day or two Clifford appears to have received some mysterious + impulse to precipitate the affair.” + </p> + <p> + “The impulse,” said the Baroness, “was the charms of your very pretty + sister.” + </p> + <p> + “But my sister’s charms were an old story; he had always known her.” Acton + had begun to experiment again. + </p> + <p> + Here, however, it was evident the Baroness would not help him. “Ah, one + can’t say! Clifford is very young; but he is a nice boy.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s a likeable sort of boy, and he will be a rich man.” This was + Acton’s last experiment. Madame Münster turned away. + </p> + <p> + She made but a short visit and Felix took her home. In her little + drawing-room she went almost straight to the mirror over the + chimney-piece, and, with a candle uplifted, stood looking into it. “I + shall not wait for your marriage,” she said to her brother. “Tomorrow my + maid shall pack up.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sister,” Felix exclaimed, “we are to be married immediately! Mr. + Brand is too uncomfortable.” + </p> + <p> + But Eugenia, turning and still holding her candle aloft, only looked about + the little sitting-room at her gimcracks and curtains and cushions. “My + maid shall pack up,” she repeated. “<i>Bonté divine</i>, what rubbish! I feel + like a strolling actress; these are my ‘properties.’” + </p> + <p> + “Is the play over, Eugenia?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + She gave him a sharp glance. “I have spoken my part.” + </p> + <p> + “With great applause!” said her brother. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, applause—applause!” she murmured. And she gathered up two or + three of her dispersed draperies. She glanced at the beautiful brocade, + and then, “I don’t see how I can have endured it!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Endure it a little longer. Come to my wedding.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; that’s your affair. My affairs are elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “To Germany—by the first ship.” + </p> + <p> + “You have decided not to marry Mr. Acton?” + </p> + <p> + “I have refused him,” said Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + Her brother looked at her in silence. “I am sorry,” he rejoined at last. + “But I was very discreet, as you asked me to be. I said nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Please continue, then, not to allude to the matter,” said Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + Felix inclined himself gravely. “You shall be obeyed. But your position in + Germany?” he pursued. + </p> + <p> + “Please to make no observations upon it.” + </p> + <p> + “I was only going to say that I supposed it was altered.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you had signed——” + </p> + <p> + “I have not signed!” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + Felix urged her no further, and it was arranged that he should immediately + assist her to embark. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand was indeed, it appeared, very impatient to consummate his + sacrifice and deliver the nuptial benediction which would set it off so + handsomely; but Eugenia’s impatience to withdraw from a country in which + she had not found the fortune she had come to seek was even less to be + mistaken. It is true she had not made any very various exertion; but she + appeared to feel justified in generalizing—in deciding that the + conditions of action on this provincial continent were not favorable to + really superior women. The elder world was, after all, their natural + field. The unembarrassed directness with which she proceeded to apply + these intelligent conclusions appeared to the little circle of spectators + who have figured in our narrative but the supreme exhibition of a + character to which the experience of life had imparted an inimitable + pliancy. It had a distinct effect upon Robert Acton, who, for the two days + preceding her departure, was a very restless and irritated mortal. She + passed her last evening at her uncle’s, where she had never been more + charming; and in parting with Clifford Wentworth’s affianced bride she + drew from her own finger a curious old ring and presented it to her with + the prettiest speech and kiss. Gertrude, who as an affianced bride was + also indebted to her gracious bounty, admired this little incident + extremely, and Robert Acton almost wondered whether it did not give him + the right, as Lizzie’s brother and guardian, to offer in return a handsome + present to the Baroness. It would have made him extremely happy to be able + to offer a handsome present to the Baroness; but he abstained from this + expression of his sentiments, and they were in consequence, at the very + last, by so much the less comfortable. It was almost at the very last that + he saw her—late the night before she went to Boston to embark. + </p> + <p> + “For myself, I wish you might have stayed,” he said. “But not for your own + sake.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t make so many differences,” said the Baroness. “I am simply sorry + to be going.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a much deeper difference than mine,” Acton declared; “for you + mean you are simply glad!” + </p> + <p> + Felix parted with her on the deck of the ship. “We shall often meet over + there,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she answered. “Europe seems to me much larger than + America.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand, of course, in the days that immediately followed, was not the + only impatient spirit; but it may be said that of all the young spirits + interested in the event none rose more eagerly to the level of the + occasion. Gertrude left her father’s house with Felix Young; they were + imperturbably happy and they went far away. Clifford and his young wife + sought their felicity in a narrower circle, and the latter’s influence + upon her husband was such as to justify, strikingly, that theory of the + elevating effect of easy intercourse with clever women which Felix had + propounded to Mr. Wentworth. Gertrude was for a good while a distant + figure, but she came back when Charlotte married Mr. Brand. She was + present at the wedding feast, where Felix’s gaiety confessed to no change. + Then she disappeared, and the echo of a gaiety of her own, mingled with + that of her husband, often came back to the home of her earlier years. Mr. + Wentworth at last found himself listening for it; and Robert Acton, after + his mother’s death, married a particularly nice young girl. + </p> + <p> + The End + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Europeans, by Henry James + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EUROPEANS *** + +***** This file should be named 179-h.htm or 179-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/179/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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