The Golden Bowl Henry James (spicy books to read txt) đ
- Author: Henry James
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âYou certainly will if you can,â the Colonel resignedly remarked.
Again his companion said nothing; then again she broke out. âIn factâ âI do begin to feel itâ âMaggieâs the great comfort. Iâm getting hold of it. It will be she whoâll see us through. In fact sheâll have to. And sheâll be able.â
Touch by touch her meditation had completed it, but with a cumulative effect for her husbandâs general sense of her method that caused him to overflow, whimsically enough, in his corner, into an ejaculation now frequent on his lips for the relief that, especially in communion like the present, it gave him, and that Fanny had critically traced to the quaint example, the aboriginal homeliness, still so delightful, of Mr. Verver. âOh, Lordy, Lordy!â
âIf she is, however,â Mrs. Assingham continued, âsheâll be extraordinary enoughâ âand thatâs what Iâm thinking of. But Iâm not indeed so very sure,â she added, âof the person to whom Charlotte ought in decency to be most grateful. I mean Iâm not sure if that person is even almost the incredible little idealist who has made her his wife.â
âI shouldnât think you would be, love,â the Colonel with some promptness responded. âCharlotte as the wife of an incredible little idealistâ â!â His cigar, in short, once more, could alone express it.
âYet what is that, when one thinks, but just what she struck one as more or less persuaded that she herself was really going to be?ââ âthis memory, for the full view, Fanny found herself also invoking.
It made her companion, in truth, slightly gape. âAn incredible little idealistâ âCharlotte herself?â
âAnd she was sincere,â his wife simply proceeded âshe was unmistakably sincere. The question is only how much is left of it.â
âAnd thatâ âI seeâ âhappens to be another of the questions you canât ask her. You have to do it all,â said Bob Assingham, âas if you were playing some game with its rules drawn upâ âthough whoâs to come down on you if you break them I donât quite see. Or must you do it in three guessesâ âlike forfeits on Christmas eve?â To which, as his ribaldry but dropped from her, he further added: âHow much of anything will have to be left for you to be able to go on with it?â
âI shall go on,â Fanny Assingham a trifle grimly declared, âwhile thereâs a scrap as big as your nail. But weâre not yet, luckily, reduced only to that.â She had another pause, holding the while the thread of that larger perception into which her view of Mrs. Ververâs obligation to Maggie had suddenly expanded. âEven if her debt was not to the othersâ âeven then it ought to be quite sufficiently to the Prince himself to keep her straight. For what, really, did the Prince do,â she asked herself, âbut generously trust her? What did he do but take it from her that if she felt herself willing it was because she felt herself strong? That creates for her, upon my word,â Mrs. Assingham pursued, âa duty of considering him, of honourably repaying his trust, whichâ âwell, which sheâll be really a fiend if she doesnât make the law of her conduct. I mean of course his trust that she wouldnât interfere with himâ âexpressed by his holding himself quiet at the critical time.â
The brougham was nearing home, and it was perhaps this sense of ebbing opportunity that caused the Colonelâs next meditation to flower in a fashion almost surprising to his wife. They were united, for the most part, but by his exhausted patience; so that indulgent despair was generally, at the best, his note. He at present, however, actually compromised with his despair to the extent of practically admitting that he had followed her steps. He literally asked, in short, an intelligent, well nigh a sympathising, question. âGratitude to the Prince for not having put a spoke in her wheelâ âthat, you mean, should, taking it in the right way, be precisely the ballast of her boat?â
âTaking it in the right way.â Fanny, catching at this gleam, emphasised the proviso.
âBut doesnât it rather depend on what she may most feel to be the right way?â
âNoâ âit depends on nothing. Because thereâs only one wayâ âfor duty or delicacy.â
âOhâ âdelicacy!â Bob Assingham rather crudely murmured.
âI mean the highest kindâ âmoral. Charlotteâs perfectly capable of appreciating that. By every dictate of moral delicacy she must let him alone.â
âThen youâve made up your mind itâs all poor Charlotte?â he asked with an effect of abruptness.
The effect, whether intended or not, reached herâ âbrought her face short round. It was a touch at which she again lost her balance, at which, somehow, the bottom dropped out of her recovered comfort. âThen youâve made up yours differently? It really struck you that there is something?â
The movement itself, apparently, made him once more stand off. He had felt on his nearer approach the high temperature of the question. âPerhaps thatâs just what sheâs doing: showing him how much sheâs letting him aloneâ âpointing it out to him from day to day.â
âDid she point it out by waiting for him tonight on the staircase in the manner you described to me?â
âI really, my dear, described to you a manner?â the Colonel, clearly, from want of habit, scarce recognised himself in the imputation.
âYesâ âfor once in a way; in those few words we had after you had watched them come up you told me something of what you had seen. You didnât tell me very muchâ âthat you couldnât for your life; but I saw for myself that, strange to say, you had received your impression, and I felt therefore that there must indeed have been something out of the way for you so to betray it.â She was fully upon him now, and she confronted him with his proved sensibility to the occasionâ âconfronted him because of her own uneasy need to profit by it. It came over her still more than at
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