The Wings of the Dove Henry James (android based ebook reader TXT) đ
- Author: Henry James
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âAs much myself as you please. But when I took myself to Venice and kept myself thereâ âwhat,â Densher asked, âdid he make of that?â
âYour being in Venice and liking to beâ âwhich is never on anyoneâs part a monstrosityâ âwas explicable for him in other ways. He was quite capable moreover of seeing it as dissimulation.â
âIn spite of Mrs. Lowder?â
âNo,â said Kate, ânot in spite of Mrs. Lowder now. Aunt Maud, before what you call his second descent, hadnât convinced himâ âall the more that my refusal of him didnât help. But he came back convinced.â And then as her companion still showed a face at a loss: âI mean after he had seen Milly, spoken to her and left her. Milly convinced him.â
âMilly?â Densher again but vaguely echoed.
âThat you were sincere. That it was her you loved.â It came to him from her in such a way that he instantly, once more, turned, found himself yet again at his window. âAunt Maud, on his return here,â she meanwhile continued, âhad it from him. And thatâs why youâre now so well with Aunt Maud.â
He only for a minute looked out in silenceâ âafter which he came away. âAnd why you are.â It was almost, in its extremely affirmative effect between them, the note of recrimination; or it would have been perhaps rather if it hadnât been so much more the note of truth. It was sharp because it was true, but its truth appeared to impose it as an argument so conclusive as to permit on neither side a sequel. That made, while they faced each other over it without speech, the gravity of everything. It was as if there were almost danger, which the wrong word might start. Densher accordingly at last acted to better purpose: he drew, standing there before her, a pocketbook from the breast of his waistcoat and he drew from the pocketbook a folded letter to which her eyes attached themselves. He restored then the receptacle to its place and, with a movement not the less odd for being visibly instinctive and unconscious, carried the hand containing his letter behind him. What he thus finally spoke of was a different matter. âDid I understand from Mrs. Lowder that your fatherâs in the house?â
If it never had taken her long in such excursions to meet him it was not to take her so now. âIn the house, yes. But we neednât fear his interruptionââ âshe spoke as if he had thought of that. âHeâs in bed.â
âDo you mean with illness?â
She sadly shook her head. âFatherâs never ill. Heâs a marvel. Heâs onlyâ âendless.â
Densher thought. âCan I in any way help you with him?â
âYes.â She perfectly, wearily, almost serenely, had it all. âBy our making your visit as little of an affair as possible for himâ âand for Marian too.â
âI see. They hate so your seeing me. Yet I couldnâtâ âcould I?â ânot have come.â
âNo, you couldnât not have come.â
âBut I can only, on the other hand, go as soon as possible?â
Quickly it almost upset her. âAh donât, today, put ugly words into my mouth. Iâve enough of my trouble without it.â
âI knowâ âI know!â He spoke in instant pleading. âItâs all only that Iâm as troubled for you. When did he come?â
âThree days agoâ âafter he hadnât been near her for more than a year, after he had apparently, and not regrettably, ceased to remember her existence; and in a state which made it impossible not to take him in.â
Densher hesitated. âDo you mean in such wantâ â?â
âNo, not of food, of necessary thingsâ ânot even, so far as his appearance went, of money. He looked as wonderful as ever. But he wasâ âwell, in terror.â
âIn terror of what?â
âI donât know. Of somebodyâ âof something. He wants, he says, to be quiet. But his quietness is awful.â
She suffered, but he couldnât not question. âWhat does he do?â
It made Kate herself hesitate. âHe cries.â
Again for a moment he hung fire, but he risked it. âWhat has he done?â
It made her slowly rise, and they were once more fully face to face. Her eyes held his own and she was paler than she had been. âIf you love meâ ânowâ âdonât ask me about father.â
He waited again a moment. âI love you. Itâs because I love you that Iâm here. Itâs because I love you that Iâve brought you this.â And he drew from behind him the letter that had remained in his hand.
But her eyes onlyâ âthough he held it outâ âmet the offer. âWhy youâve not broken the seal!â
âIf I had broken the sealâ âexactlyâ âI should know whatâs within. Itâs for you to break the seal that I bring it.â
She lookedâ âstill not touching the thingâ âinordinately grave. âTo break the seal of something to you from her?â
âAh precisely because itâs from her. Iâll abide by whatever you think of it.â
âI donât understand,â said Kate. âWhat do you yourself think?â And then as he didnât answer: âIt seems to me I think you know. You have your instinct. You donât need to read. Itâs the proof.â
Densher faced her words as if they had been an accusation, an accusation for which he was prepared and which there was but one way to face. âI have indeed my instinct. It came to me, while I worried it out, last night. It came to me as an effect of the hour.â He held up his letter and seemed now to insist more than to confess. âThis thing had been timed.â
âFor Christmas Eve?â
âFor Christmas Eve.â
Kate had suddenly a strange smile. âThe season of gifts!â After which, as he said nothing, she went on: âAnd had been written, you mean, while she could write, and kept to be so timed?â
Only meeting her eyes while he thought, he again didnât reply. âWhat do you mean by the proof?â
âWhy of the beauty with which youâve been loved.
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