The Golden Bowl Henry James (spicy books to read txt) đ
- Author: Henry James
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She faced round as if he had touched a spring. âHe wanted to, naturallyâ âand it was much the best thing he could do.â She was in possession of the main case, as it truly seemed; she had it all now. âHe was capable of the effort, and he took the best way. Remember too what Maggie then seemed to us.â
âSheâs very nice; but she always seems to me, more than anything else, the young woman who has a million a year. If you mean that thatâs what she especially seemed to him, you of course place the thing in your light. The effort to forget Charlotte couldnât, I grant you, have been so difficult.â
This pulled her up but for an instant. âI never said he didnât from the firstâ âI never said that he doesnât more and moreâ âlike Maggieâs money.â
âI never said I shouldnât have liked it myself,â Bob Assingham returned. He made no movement; he smoked another minute. âHow much did Maggie know?â
âHow much?â She seemed to considerâ âas if it were between quarts and gallonsâ âhow best to express the quantity. âShe knew what Charlotte, in Florence, had told her.â
âAnd what had Charlotte told her?â
âVery little.â
âWhat makes you so sure?â
âWhy, thisâ âthat she couldnât tell her.â And she explained a little what she meant. âThere are things, my dearâ âhavenât you felt it yourself, coarse as you are?â âthat no one could tell Maggie. There are things that, upon my word, I shouldnât care to attempt to tell her now.â
The Colonel smoked on it. âSheâd be so scandalised?â
âSheâd be so frightened. Sheâd be, in her strange little way, so hurt. She wasnât born to know evil. She must never know it.â Bob Assingham had a queer grim laugh; the sound of which, in fact, fixed his wife before him. âWeâre taking grand ways to prevent it.â
But she stood there to protest. âWeâre not taking any ways. The ways are all taken; they were taken from the moment he came up to our carriage that day in Villa Borgheseâ âthe second or third of her days in Rome, when, as you remember, you went off somewhere with Mr. Verver, and the Prince, who had got into the carriage with us, came home with us to tea. They had met; they had seen each other well; they were in relation: the rest was to come of itself and as it could. It began, practically, I recollect, in our drive. Maggie happened to learn, by some other manâs greeting of him, in the bright Roman way, from a streetcorner as we passed, that one of the Princeâs baptismal names, the one always used for him among his relations, was Amerigo: which (as you probably donât know, however, even after a lifetime of me), was the name, four hundred years ago, or whenever, of the pushing man who followed, across the sea, in the wake of Columbus and succeeded, where Columbus had failed, in becoming godfather, or name-father, to the new Continent; so that the thought of any connection with him can even now thrill our artless breasts.â
The Colonelâs grim placidity could always quite adequately meet his wifeâs not infrequent imputation of ignorances, on the score of the land of her birth, unperturbed and unashamed; and these dark depths were even at the present moment not directly lighted by an inquiry that managed to be curious without being apologetic. âBut where does the connection come in?â
His wife was prompt. âBy the womenâ âthat is by some obliging woman, of old, who was a descendant of the pushing man, the make-believe discoverer, and whom the Prince is therefore luckily able to refer to as an ancestress. A branch of the other family had become greatâ âgreat enough, at least, to marry into his; and the name of the navigator, crowned with glory, was, very naturally, to become so the fashion among them that some son, of every generation, was appointed to wear it. My point is, at any rate, that I recall noticing at the time how the Prince was, from the start, helped with the dear Ververs by his wearing it. The connection became romantic for Maggie the moment she took it in; she filled out, in a flash, every link that might be vague. âBy that sign,â I quite said to myself, âheâll conquerââ âwith his good fortune, of course, of having the other necessary signs too. It really,â said Mrs. Assingham, âwas, practically, the fine side of the wedge. Which struck me as also,â she wound up, âa lovely note for the candour of the Ververs.â
The Colonel took in the tale, but his comment was prosaic. âHe knew, Amerigo, what he was about. And I donât mean the old one.â
âI know what you mean!â his wife bravely threw off.
âThe old oneââ âhe pointed his effect âisnât the only discoverer in the family.â
âOh, as much as you like! If he discovered Americaâ âor got himself honoured as if he hadâ âhis successors were, in due time, to discover the Americans. And it was one of them in particular, doubtless, who was to discover how patriotic we are.â
âWouldnât this be the same one,â the Colonel asked, âwho really discovered what you call the connection?â
She gave him a look. âThe connectionâs a true thingâ âthe connectionâs perfectly historic, Your insinuations recoil upon your cynical mind. Donât you understand,â she asked, âthat the history of such people is known, root and
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