The Golden Bowl Henry James (spicy books to read txt) đ
- Author: Henry James
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This made indeed a scant difference, for though he had during the last month done few things so much as attend his future wife on her making of purchases, the antiquarii, as he called them with Charlotte, had not been the great affair. Except in Bond Street, really, Maggie had had no use for them: her situation indeed, in connection with that order of traffic, was full of consequences produced by her fatherâs. Mr. Verver, one of the great collectors of the world, hadnât left his daughter to prowl for herself; he had little to do with shops, and was mostly, as a purchaser, approached privately and from afar. Great people, all over Europe, sought introductions to him; high personages, incredibly high, and more of them than would ever be known, solemnly sworn as everyone was, in such cases, to discretion, high personages made up to him as the one man on the short authentic list likely to give the price. It had therefore been easy to settle, as they walked, that the tracks of the Ververs, daughterâs as well as fatherâs, were to be avoided; the importance only was that their talk about it led for a moment to the first words they had as yet exchanged on the subject of Maggie. Charlotte, still in the Park, proceeded to themâ âfor it was she who beganâ âwith a serenity of appreciation that was odd, certainly, as a sequel to her words of ten minutes before. This was another note on herâ âwhat he would have called another lightâ âfor her companion, who, though without giving a sign, admired, for what it was, the simplicity of her transition, a transition that took no trouble either to trace or to explain itself. She paused again an instant, on the grass, to make it; she stopped before him with a sudden âAnything of course, dear as she is, will do for her. I mean if I were to give her a pincushion from the Baker-Street Bazaar.â
âThatâs exactly what I meantââ âthe Prince laughed out this allusion to their snatch of talk in Portland Place. âItâs just what I suggested.â
She took, however, no notice of the reminder; she went on in her own way. âBut it isnât a reason. In that case one would never do anything for her. I mean,â Charlotte explained, âif one took advantage of her character.â
âOf her character?â
âWe mustnât take advantage of her character,â the girl, again unheeding, pursued. âOne mustnât, if not for her, at least for oneâs self. She saves one such trouble.â
She had spoken thoughtfully, with her eyes on her friendâs; she might have been talking, preoccupied and practical, of someone with whom he was comparatively unconnected. âShe certainly gives one no trouble,â said the Prince. And then as if this were perhaps ambiguous or inadequate: âSheâs not selfishâ âGod forgive her!â âenough.â
âThatâs what I mean,â Charlotte instantly said. âSheâs not selfish enough. Thereâs nothing, absolutely, that one need do for her. Sheâs so modest,â she developedâ ââshe doesnât miss things. I mean if you love herâ âor, rather, I should say, if she loves you. She lets it go.â
The Prince frowned a littleâ âas a tribute, after all, to seriousness. âShe lets whatâ â?â
âAnythingâ âanything that you might do and that you donât. She lets everything go but her own disposition to be kind to you. Itâs of herself that she asks effortsâ âso far as she ever has to ask them. She hasnât, much. She does everything herself. And thatâs terrible.â
The Prince had listened; but, always with propriety, he didnât commit himself. âTerrible?â
âWell, unless one is almost as good as she. It makes too easy terms for one. It takes stuff, within one, so far as oneâs decency is concerned, to stand it. And nobody,â Charlotte continued in the same manner, âis decent enough, good enough, to stand itâ ânot without help from religion, or something of that kind. Not without prayer and fastingâ âthat is without taking great care. Certainly,â she said, âsuch people as you and I are not.â
The Prince, obligingly, thought an instant. âNot good enough to stand it?â
âWell, not good enough not rather to feel the strain. We happen each, I think, to be of the kind that are easily spoiled.â
Her friend, again, for propriety, followed the argument. âOh, I donât know. May not oneâs affection for her do something more for oneâs decency, as you call it, than her own generosityâ âher own affection, her âdecencyââ âhas the unfortunate virtue to undo?â
âAh, of course it must be all in that.â
But she had made her question, all the same, interesting to him.
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