The Ambassadors Henry James (novel24 txt) š
- Author: Henry James
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His impression of Miss Gostrey after her introduction to Chad was meanwhile an impression of a person almost unnaturally on her guard. He struck himself as at first unable to extract from her what he wished; though indeed of what he wished at this special juncture he would doubtless have contrived to make but a crude statement. It sifted and settled nothing to put to her, tout bĆŖtement, as she often said, āDo you like him, eh?āā āthanks to his feeling it actually the least of his needs to heap up the evidence in the young manās favour. He repeatedly knocked at her door to let her have it afresh that Chadās caseā āwhatever else of minor interest it might yieldā āwas first and foremost a miracle almost monstrous. It was the alteration of the entire man, and was so signal an instance that nothing else, for the intelligent observer, couldā ācould it?ā āsignify. āItās a plot,ā he declaredā āāthereās more in it than meets the eye.ā He gave the rein to his fancy. āItās a plant!ā
His fancy seemed to please her. āWhose then?ā
āWell, the party responsible is, I suppose, the fate that waits for one, the dark doom that rides. What I mean is that with such elements one canāt count. Iāve but my poor individual, my modest human means. It isnāt playing the game to turn on the uncanny. All oneās energy goes to facing it, to tracking it. One wants, confound it, donāt you see?ā he confessed with a queer faceā āāone wants to enjoy anything so rare. Call it then lifeāā āhe puzzled it outā āācall it poor dear old life simply that springs the surprise. Nothing alters the fact that the surprise is paralysing, or at any rate engrossingā āall, practically, hang it, that one sees, that one can see.ā
Her silences were never barren, nor even dull. āIs that what youāve written home?ā
He tossed it off. āOh dear, yes!ā
She had another pause while, across her carpets, he had another walk. āIf you donāt look out youāll have them straight over.ā
āOh but Iāve said heāll go back.ā
āAnd will he?ā Miss Gostrey asked.
The special tone of it made him, pulling up, look at her long. āWhatās that but just the question Iāve spent treasures of patience and ingenuity in giving you, by the sight of himā āafter everything had led upā āevery facility to answer? What is it but just the thing I came here today to get out of you? Will he?ā
āNoā āhe wonāt,ā she said at last. āHeās not free.ā
The air of it held him. āThen youāve all the while knownā ā?ā
āIāve known nothing but what Iāve seen; and I wonder,ā she declared with some impatience, āthat you didnāt see as much. It was enough to be with him thereā āā
āIn the box? Yes,ā he rather blankly urged.
āWellā āto feel sure.ā
āSure of what?ā
She got up from her chair, at this, with a nearer approach than she had ever yet shown to dismay at his dimness. She even, fairly pausing for it, spoke with a shade of pity. āGuess!ā
It was a shade, fairly, that brought a flush into his face; so that for a moment, as they waited together, their difference was between them. āYou mean that just your hour with him told you so much of his story? Very good; Iām not such a fool, on my side, as that I donāt understand you, or as that I didnāt in some degree understand him. That he has done what he liked most isnāt, among any of us, a matter the least in dispute. Thereās equally little question at this time of day of what it is he does like most. But Iām not talking,ā he reasonably explained, āof any mere wretch he may still pick up. Iām talking of some person who in his present situation may have held her own, may really have counted.ā
āThatās
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