The Golden Bowl Henry James (spicy books to read txt) đ
- Author: Henry James
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âIn the way, you mean, of living with us?â
âOf living with anyone. She canât live by visits aloneâ âand she doesnât want to. Sheâs too good for it even if she could. But she willâ âshe must, sooner or laterâ âstay with them. Maggie will want herâ âMaggie will make her. Besides, sheâll want to herself.â
âThen why wonât that do,â the Colonel asked, âfor you to think itâs what she has come for?â
âHow will it do, how?ââ âshe went on as without hearing him.
âThatâs what one keeps feeling.â
âWhy shouldnât it do beautifully?â
âThat anything of the past,â she brooded, âshould come back now? How will it do, how will it do?â
âIt will do, I daresay, without your wringing your hands over it. When, my dear,â the Colonel pursued as he smoked, âhave you ever seen anything of yoursâ âanything that youâve doneâ ânot do?â
âAh, I didnât do this!â It brought her answer straight. âI didnât bring her back.â
âDid you expect her to stay over there all her days to oblige you?â
âNot a bitâ âfor I shouldnât have minded her coming after their marriage. Itâs her coming, this way, before.â To which she added with inconsequence: âIâm too sorry for herâ âof course she canât enjoy it. But I donât see what perversity rides her. She neednât have looked it all so in the faceâ âas she doesnât do it, I suppose, simply for discipline. Itâs almostâ âthatâs the bore of itâ âdiscipline to me.â
âPerhaps then,â said Bob Assingham, âthatâs what has been her idea. Take it, for Godâs sake, as discipline to you and have done with it. It will do,â he added, âfor discipline to me as well.â
She was far, however, from having done with it; it was a situation with such different sides, as she said, and to none of which one could, in justice, be blind. âIt isnât in the least, you know, for instance, that I believe sheâs bad. Never, never,â Mrs. Assingham declared. âI donât think that of her.â
âThen why isnât that enough?â
Nothing was enough, Mrs. Assingham signified, but that she should develop her thought. âShe doesnât deliberately intend, she doesnât consciously wish, the least complication. Itâs perfectly true that she thinks Maggie a dearâ âas who doesnât? Sheâs incapable of any plan to hurt a hair of her head. Yet here she isâ âand there they are,â she wound up.
Her husband again, for a little, smoked in silence. âWhat in the world, between them, ever took place?â
âBetween Charlotte and the Prince? Why, nothingâ âexcept their having to recognise that nothing could. That was their little romanceâ âit was even their little tragedy.â
âBut what the deuce did they do?â
âDo? They fell in love with each otherâ âbut, seeing it wasnât possible, gave each other up.â
âThen where was the romance?â
âWhy, in their frustration, in their having the courage to look the facts in the face.â
âWhat facts?â the Colonel went on.
âWell, to begin with, that of their neither of them having the means to marry. If she had had even a littleâ âa little, I mean, for twoâ âI believe he would bravely have done it.â After which, as her husband but emitted an odd vague sound, she corrected herself. âI mean if he himself had had only a littleâ âor a little more than a little, a little for a prince. They would have done what they couldââ âshe did them justiceâ ââif there had been a way. But there wasnât a way, and Charlotte, quite to her honour, I consider, understood it. He had to have moneyâ âit was a question of life and death. It wouldnât have been a bit amusing, either, to marry him as a pauperâ âI mean leaving him one. That was what she hadâ âas he hadâ âthe reason to see.â
âAnd their reason is what you call their romance?â
She looked at him a moment. âWhat do you want more?â
âDidnât he,â the Colonel inquired, âwant anything more? Or didnât, for that matter, poor Charlotte herself?â
She kept her eyes on him; there was a manner in it that half answered. âThey were thoroughly in love. She might have been hisâ ââ She checked herself; she even for a minute lost herself. âShe might have been anything she likedâ âexcept his wife.â
âBut she wasnât,â said the Colonel very smokingly.
âShe wasnât,â Mrs. Assingham echoed.
The echo, not loud but deep, filled for a little the room. He seemed to listen to it die away; then he began again. âHow are you sure?â
She waited before saying, but when she spoke it was definite. âThere wasnât time.â
He had a small laugh for her reason; he might have expected some other. âDoes it take so much time?â
She herself, however, remained serious. âIt takes more than they had.â
He was detached, but he wondered. âWhat was the matter with their time?â After which, as, remembering it all, living it over and piecing it together, she only considered, âYou mean that you came in with your idea?â he demanded.
It brought her quickly to the point, and as if also in a measure to answer herself. âNot a bit of itâ âthen. But you surely recall,â she went on, âthe way, a year ago, everything took place. They had parted before he had ever heard of Maggie.â
âWhy hadnât he heard of her from Charlotte herself?â
âBecause she had never spoken of her.â
âIs that also,â the Colonel inquired, âwhat she has told you?â
âIâm not speaking,â his wife returned, âof what she has told me. Thatâs one thing. Iâm speaking of what I know by myself. Thatâs another.â
âYou feel, in other words, that she lies to you?â Bob Assingham more sociably asked.
She neglected the question, treating it as gross. âShe never so much, at the time, as named Maggie.â
It was so positive that it appeared to strike him. âItâs he then who has told you?â
She after a moment admitted it. âItâs he.â
âAnd he doesnât lie?â
âNoâ âto do him justice. I believe he absolutely doesnât. If I hadnât believed it,â Mrs. Assingham declared, for her general justification, âI would have
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