The Portrait of a Lady — Volume 1 by Henry James
CHAPTER XXV
While this sufficiently intimate colloquy (prolonged for some time afterwe cease to follow it) went forward Madame Merle and her companion,breaking a silence of some duration, had begun to exchange remarks.They were sitting in an attitude of unexpressed expectancy; an attitudeespecially marked on the part of the Countess Gemini, who, being of amore nervous temperament than her friend, practised with less successthe art of disguising impatience. What these ladies were waiting forwould not have been apparent and was perhaps not very definite to theirown minds. Madame Merle waited for Osmond to release their young friendfrom her tete-a-tete, and the Countess waited because Madame Merle did.The Countess, moreover, by waiting, found the time ripe for one of herpretty perversities. She might have desired for some minutes to placeit. Her brother wandered with Isabel to the end of the garden, to whichpoint her eyes followed them.
”My dear,” she then observed to her companion, ”you'll excuse me if Idon't congratulate you!”
”Very willingly, for I don't in the least know why you should.”
”Haven't you a little plan that you think rather well of?” And theCountess nodded at the sequestered couple.
Madame Merle's eyes took the same direction then she looked serenely ather neighbour. ”You know I never understand you very well,” she smiled.
”No one can understand better than you when you wish. I see that justnow you DON'T wish.”
”You say things to me that no one else does,” said Madame Merle gravely,yet without bitterness.
”You mean things you don't like? Doesn't Osmond sometimes say suchthings?”
”What your brother says has a point.”
”Yes, a poisoned one sometimes. If you mean that I'm not so clever as heyou mustn't think I shall suffer from your sense of our difference. Butit will be much better that you should understand me.”
”Why so?” asked Madame Merle. ”To what will it conduce?”
”If I don't approve of your plan you ought to know it in order toappreciate the danger of my interfering with it.”
Madame Merle looked as if she were ready to admit that there might besomething in this; but in a moment she said quietly: ”You think me morecalculating than I am.”
”It's not your calculating I think ill of; it's your calculating wrong.You've done so in this case.”
”You must have made extensive calculations yourself to discover that.”
”No, I've not had time. I've seen the girl but this once,” said theCountess, ”and the conviction has suddenly come to me. I like her verymuch.”
”So do I,” Madame Merle mentioned.
”You've a strange way of showing it.”
”Surely I've given her the advantage of making your acquaintance.”
”That indeed,” piped the Countess, ”is perhaps the best thing that couldhappen to her!”
Madame Merle said nothing for some time. The Countess's manner wasodious, was really low; but it was an old story, and with her eyes uponthe violet slope of Monte Morello she gave herself up to reflection. ”Mydear lady,” she finally resumed, ”I advise you not to agitate yourself.The matter you allude to concerns three persons much stronger of purposethan yourself.”
”Three persons? You and Osmond of course. But is Miss Archer also verystrong of purpose?”
”Quite as much so as we.”
”Ah then,” said the Countess radiantly, ”if I convince her it's herinterest to resist you she'll do so successfully!”
”Resist us? Why do you express yourself so coarsely? She's not exposedto compulsion or deception.”
”I'm not sure of that. You're capable of anything, you and Osmond. Idon't mean Osmond by himself, and I don't mean you by yourself. Buttogether you're dangerous--like some chemical combination.”
”You had better leave us alone then,” smiled Madame Merle.
”I don't mean to touch you--but I shall talk to that girl.”
”My poor Amy,” Madame Merle murmured, ”I don't see what has got intoyour head.”
”I take an interest in her--that's what has got into my head. I likeher.”
Madame Merle hesitated a moment. ”I don't think she likes you.”
The Countess's bright little eyes expanded and her face was set in agrimace. ”Ah, you ARE dangerous--even by yourself!”
”If you want her to like you don't abuse your brother to her,” saidMadame Merle.
”I don't suppose you pretend she has fallen in love with him in twointerviews.”
Madame Merle looked a moment at Isabel and at the master of the house.He was leaning against the parapet, facing her, his arms folded; andshe at present was evidently not lost in the mere impersonal view,persistently as she gazed at it. As Madame Merle watched her she loweredher eyes; she was listening, possibly with a certain embarrassment,while she pressed the point of her parasol into the path. Madame Merlerose from her chair. ”Yes, I think so!” she pronounced.
The shabby footboy, summoned by Pansy--he might, tarnished as to liveryand quaint as to type, have issued from some stray sketch of old-timemanners, been ”put in” by the brush of a Longhi or a Goya--had come outwith a small table and placed it on the grass, and then had gone backand fetched the tea-tray; after which he had again disappeared, toreturn with a couple of chairs. Pansy had watched these proceedings withthe deepest interest, standing with her small hands folded togetherupon the front of her scanty frock; but she had not presumed to offerassistance. When the tea-table had been arranged, however, she gentlyapproached her aunt.
”Do you think papa would object to my making the tea?”
The Countess looked at her with a deliberately critical gaze and withoutanswering her question. ”My poor niece,” she said, ”is that your bestfrock?”
”Ah no,” Pansy answered, ”it's just a little toilette for commonoccasions.”
”Do you call it a common occasion when I come to see you?--to saynothing of Madame Merle and the pretty lady yonder.”
Pansy reflected a moment, turning gravely from one of the personsmentioned to the other. Then her face broke into its perfect smile.”I have a pretty dress, but even that one's very simple. Why should Iexpose it beside your beautiful things?”
”Because it's the prettiest you have; for me you must always wear theprettiest. Please put it on the next time. It seems to me they don'tdress you so well as they might.”
The child sparingly stroked down her antiquated skirt. ”It's a goodlittle dress to make tea--don't you think? Don't you believe papa wouldallow me?”
”Impossible for me to say, my child,” said the Countess. ”For me, yourfather's ideas are unfathomable. Madame Merle understands them better.Ask HER.”
Madame Merle smiled with her usual grace. ”It's a weighty question--letme think. It seems to me it would please your father to see a carefullittle daughter making his tea. It's the proper duty of the daughter ofthe house--when she grows up.”
”So it seems to me, Madame Merle!” Pansy cried. ”You shall see how wellI'll make it. A spoonful for each.” And she began to busy herself at thetable.
”Two spoonfuls for me,” said the Countess, who, with Madame Merle,remained for some moments watching her. ”Listen to me, Pansy,” theCountess resumed at last. ”I should like to know what you think of yourvisitor.”
”Ah, she's not mine--she's papa's,” Pansy objected.
”Miss Archer came to see you as well,” said Madame Merle.
”I'm very happy to hear that. She has been very polite to me.”
”Do you like her then?” the Countess asked.
”She's charming--charming,” Pansy repeated in her little neatconversational tone. ”She pleases me thoroughly.”
”And how do you think she pleases your father?”
”Ah really, Countess!” murmured Madame Merle dissuasively. ”Go and callthem to tea,” she went on to the child.
”You'll see if they don't like it!” Pansy declared; and departed tosummon the others, who had still lingered at the end of the terrace.
”If Miss Archer's to become her mother it's surely interesting to knowif the child likes her,” said the Countess.
”If your brother marries again it won't be for Pansy's sake,” MadameMerle replied. ”She'll soon be sixteen, and after that she'll begin toneed a husband rather than a stepmother.”
”And will you provide the husband as well?”
”I shall certainly take an interest in her marrying fortunately. Iimagine you'll do the same.”
”Indeed I shan't!” cried the Countess. ”Why should I, of all women, setsuch a price on a husband?”
”You didn't marry fortunately; that's what I'm speaking of. When I say ahusband I mean a good one.”
”There are no good ones. Osmond won't be a good one.”
Madame Merle closed her eyes a moment. ”You're irritated just now; Idon't know why,” she presently said. ”I don't think you'll really objecteither to your brother's or to your niece's marrying, when the timecomes for them to do so; and as regards Pansy I'm confident that weshall some day have the pleasure of looking for a husband for hertogether. Your large acquaintance will be a great help.”
”Yes, I'm irritated,” the Countess answered. ”You often irritate me.Your own coolness is fabulous. You're a strange woman.”
”It's much better that we should always act together,” Madame Merle wenton.
”Do you mean that as a threat?” asked the Countess rising. MadameMerle shook her head as for quiet amusement. ”No indeed, you've not mycoolness!”
Isabel and Mr. Osmond were now slowly coming toward them and Isabelhad taken Pansy by the hand. ”Do you pretend to believe he'd make herhappy?” the Countess demanded.
”If he should marry Miss Archer I suppose he'd behave like a gentleman.”
The Countess jerked herself into a succession of attitudes. ”Do youmean as most gentlemen behave? That would be much to be thankful for! Ofcourse Osmond's a gentleman; his own sister needn't be reminded of that.But does he think he can marry any girl he happens to pick out? Osmond'sa gentleman, of course; but I must say I've NEVER, no, no, never, seenany one of Osmond's pretensions! What they're all founded on is morethan I can say. I'm his own sister; I might be supposed to know. Whois he, if you please? What has he ever done? If there had been anythingparticularly grand in his origin--if he were made of some superiorclay--I presume I should have got some inkling of it. If there had beenany great honours or splendours in the family I should certainly havemade the most of them: they would have been quite in my line. Butthere's nothing, nothing, nothing. One's parents were charming people ofcourse; but so were yours, I've no doubt. Every one's a charming personnowadays. Even I'm a charming person don't laugh, it has literallybeen said. As for Osmond, he has always appeared to believe that he'sdescended from the gods.”
”You may say what you please,” said Madame Merle, who had listened tothis quick outbreak none the less attentively, we may believe, becauseher eye wandered away from the speaker and her hands busied themselveswith adjusting the knots of ribbon on her dress. ”You Osmonds are a finerace--your blood must flow from some very pure source. Your brother,like an intelligent man, has had the conviction of it if he has nothad the proofs. You're modest about it, but you yourself are extremelydistinguished. What do you say about your niece? The child's a littleprincess. Nevertheless,” Madame Merle added, ”it won't be an easy matterfor Osmond to marry Miss Archer. Yet he can try.”
”I hope she'll refuse him. It will take him down a little.”
”We mustn't forget that he is one of the cleverest of men.”
”I've heard you say that before, but I haven't yet discovered what hehas done.”
”What he has done? He has done nothing that has had to be undone. And hehas known how to wait.”
”To wait for Miss Archer's money? How much of it is there?”
”That's not what I mean,” said Madame Merle. ”Miss Archer has seventythousand pounds.”
”Well, it's a pity she's so charming,” the Countess declared. ”To besacrificed, any girl would do. She needn't be superior.”
”If she weren't superior your brother would never look at her. He musthave the best.”
”Yes,” returned the Countess as they went forward a little to meetthe others, ”he's very hard to satisfy. That makes me tremble for herhappiness!”
While this sufficiently intimate colloquy (prolonged for some time afterwe cease to follow it) went forward Madame Merle and her companion,breaking a silence of some duration, had begun to exchange remarks.They were sitting in an attitude of unexpressed expectancy; an attitudeespecially marked on the part of the Countess Gemini, who, being of amore nervous temperament than her friend, practised with less successthe art of disguising impatience. What these ladies were waiting forwould not have been apparent and was perhaps not very definite to theirown minds. Madame Merle waited for Osmond to release their young friendfrom her tete-a-tete, and the Countess waited because Madame Merle did.The Countess, moreover, by waiting, found the time ripe for one of herpretty perversities. She might have desired for some minutes to placeit. Her brother wandered with Isabel to the end of the garden, to whichpoint her eyes followed them.
”My dear,” she then observed to her companion, ”you'll excuse me if Idon't congratulate you!”
”Very willingly, for I don't in the least know why you should.”
”Haven't you a little plan that you think rather well of?” And theCountess nodded at the sequestered couple.
Madame Merle's eyes took the same direction then she looked serenely ather neighbour. ”You know I never understand you very well,” she smiled.
”No one can understand better than you when you wish. I see that justnow you DON'T wish.”
”You say things to me that no one else does,” said Madame Merle gravely,yet without bitterness.
”You mean things you don't like? Doesn't Osmond sometimes say suchthings?”
”What your brother says has a point.”
”Yes, a poisoned one sometimes. If you mean that I'm not so clever as heyou mustn't think I shall suffer from your sense of our difference. Butit will be much better that you should understand me.”
”Why so?” asked Madame Merle. ”To what will it conduce?”
”If I don't approve of your plan you ought to know it in order toappreciate the danger of my interfering with it.”
Madame Merle looked as if she were ready to admit that there might besomething in this; but in a moment she said quietly: ”You think me morecalculating than I am.”
”It's not your calculating I think ill of; it's your calculating wrong.You've done so in this case.”
”You must have made extensive calculations yourself to discover that.”
”No, I've not had time. I've seen the girl but this once,” said theCountess, ”and the conviction has suddenly come to me. I like her verymuch.”
”So do I,” Madame Merle mentioned.
”You've a strange way of showing it.”
”Surely I've given her the advantage of making your acquaintance.”
”That indeed,” piped the Countess, ”is perhaps the best thing that couldhappen to her!”
Madame Merle said nothing for some time. The Countess's manner wasodious, was really low; but it was an old story, and with her eyes uponthe violet slope of Monte Morello she gave herself up to reflection. ”Mydear lady,” she finally resumed, ”I advise you not to agitate yourself.The matter you allude to concerns three persons much stronger of purposethan yourself.”
”Three persons? You and Osmond of course. But is Miss Archer also verystrong of purpose?”
”Quite as much so as we.”
”Ah then,” said the Countess radiantly, ”if I convince her it's herinterest to resist you she'll do so successfully!”
”Resist us? Why do you express yourself so coarsely? She's not exposedto compulsion or deception.”
”I'm not sure of that. You're capable of anything, you and Osmond. Idon't mean Osmond by himself, and I don't mean you by yourself. Buttogether you're dangerous--like some chemical combination.”
”You had better leave us alone then,” smiled Madame Merle.
”I don't mean to touch you--but I shall talk to that girl.”
”My poor Amy,” Madame Merle murmured, ”I don't see what has got intoyour head.”
”I take an interest in her--that's what has got into my head. I likeher.”
Madame Merle hesitated a moment. ”I don't think she likes you.”
The Countess's bright little eyes expanded and her face was set in agrimace. ”Ah, you ARE dangerous--even by yourself!”
”If you want her to like you don't abuse your brother to her,” saidMadame Merle.
”I don't suppose you pretend she has fallen in love with him in twointerviews.”
Madame Merle looked a moment at Isabel and at the master of the house.He was leaning against the parapet, facing her, his arms folded; andshe at present was evidently not lost in the mere impersonal view,persistently as she gazed at it. As Madame Merle watched her she loweredher eyes; she was listening, possibly with a certain embarrassment,while she pressed the point of her parasol into the path. Madame Merlerose from her chair. ”Yes, I think so!” she pronounced.
The shabby footboy, summoned by Pansy--he might, tarnished as to liveryand quaint as to type, have issued from some stray sketch of old-timemanners, been ”put in” by the brush of a Longhi or a Goya--had come outwith a small table and placed it on the grass, and then had gone backand fetched the tea-tray; after which he had again disappeared, toreturn with a couple of chairs. Pansy had watched these proceedings withthe deepest interest, standing with her small hands folded togetherupon the front of her scanty frock; but she had not presumed to offerassistance. When the tea-table had been arranged, however, she gentlyapproached her aunt.
”Do you think papa would object to my making the tea?”
The Countess looked at her with a deliberately critical gaze and withoutanswering her question. ”My poor niece,” she said, ”is that your bestfrock?”
”Ah no,” Pansy answered, ”it's just a little toilette for commonoccasions.”
”Do you call it a common occasion when I come to see you?--to saynothing of Madame Merle and the pretty lady yonder.”
Pansy reflected a moment, turning gravely from one of the personsmentioned to the other. Then her face broke into its perfect smile.”I have a pretty dress, but even that one's very simple. Why should Iexpose it beside your beautiful things?”
”Because it's the prettiest you have; for me you must always wear theprettiest. Please put it on the next time. It seems to me they don'tdress you so well as they might.”
The child sparingly stroked down her antiquated skirt. ”It's a goodlittle dress to make tea--don't you think? Don't you believe papa wouldallow me?”
”Impossible for me to say, my child,” said the Countess. ”For me, yourfather's ideas are unfathomable. Madame Merle understands them better.Ask HER.”
Madame Merle smiled with her usual grace. ”It's a weighty question--letme think. It seems to me it would please your father to see a carefullittle daughter making his tea. It's the proper duty of the daughter ofthe house--when she grows up.”
”So it seems to me, Madame Merle!” Pansy cried. ”You shall see how wellI'll make it. A spoonful for each.” And she began to busy herself at thetable.
”Two spoonfuls for me,” said the Countess, who, with Madame Merle,remained for some moments watching her. ”Listen to me, Pansy,” theCountess resumed at last. ”I should like to know what you think of yourvisitor.”
”Ah, she's not mine--she's papa's,” Pansy objected.
”Miss Archer came to see you as well,” said Madame Merle.
”I'm very happy to hear that. She has been very polite to me.”
”Do you like her then?” the Countess asked.
”She's charming--charming,” Pansy repeated in her little neatconversational tone. ”She pleases me thoroughly.”
”And how do you think she pleases your father?”
”Ah really, Countess!” murmured Madame Merle dissuasively. ”Go and callthem to tea,” she went on to the child.
”You'll see if they don't like it!” Pansy declared; and departed tosummon the others, who had still lingered at the end of the terrace.
”If Miss Archer's to become her mother it's surely interesting to knowif the child likes her,” said the Countess.
”If your brother marries again it won't be for Pansy's sake,” MadameMerle replied. ”She'll soon be sixteen, and after that she'll begin toneed a husband rather than a stepmother.”
”And will you provide the husband as well?”
”I shall certainly take an interest in her marrying fortunately. Iimagine you'll do the same.”
”Indeed I shan't!” cried the Countess. ”Why should I, of all women, setsuch a price on a husband?”
”You didn't marry fortunately; that's what I'm speaking of. When I say ahusband I mean a good one.”
”There are no good ones. Osmond won't be a good one.”
Madame Merle closed her eyes a moment. ”You're irritated just now; Idon't know why,” she presently said. ”I don't think you'll really objecteither to your brother's or to your niece's marrying, when the timecomes for them to do so; and as regards Pansy I'm confident that weshall some day have the pleasure of looking for a husband for hertogether. Your large acquaintance will be a great help.”
”Yes, I'm irritated,” the Countess answered. ”You often irritate me.Your own coolness is fabulous. You're a strange woman.”
”It's much better that we should always act together,” Madame Merle wenton.
”Do you mean that as a threat?” asked the Countess rising. MadameMerle shook her head as for quiet amusement. ”No indeed, you've not mycoolness!”
Isabel and Mr. Osmond were now slowly coming toward them and Isabelhad taken Pansy by the hand. ”Do you pretend to believe he'd make herhappy?” the Countess demanded.
”If he should marry Miss Archer I suppose he'd behave like a gentleman.”
The Countess jerked herself into a succession of attitudes. ”Do youmean as most gentlemen behave? That would be much to be thankful for! Ofcourse Osmond's a gentleman; his own sister needn't be reminded of that.But does he think he can marry any girl he happens to pick out? Osmond'sa gentleman, of course; but I must say I've NEVER, no, no, never, seenany one of Osmond's pretensions! What they're all founded on is morethan I can say. I'm his own sister; I might be supposed to know. Whois he, if you please? What has he ever done? If there had been anythingparticularly grand in his origin--if he were made of some superiorclay--I presume I should have got some inkling of it. If there had beenany great honours or splendours in the family I should certainly havemade the most of them: they would have been quite in my line. Butthere's nothing, nothing, nothing. One's parents were charming people ofcourse; but so were yours, I've no doubt. Every one's a charming personnowadays. Even I'm a charming person don't laugh, it has literallybeen said. As for Osmond, he has always appeared to believe that he'sdescended from the gods.”
”You may say what you please,” said Madame Merle, who had listened tothis quick outbreak none the less attentively, we may believe, becauseher eye wandered away from the speaker and her hands busied themselveswith adjusting the knots of ribbon on her dress. ”You Osmonds are a finerace--your blood must flow from some very pure source. Your brother,like an intelligent man, has had the conviction of it if he has nothad the proofs. You're modest about it, but you yourself are extremelydistinguished. What do you say about your niece? The child's a littleprincess. Nevertheless,” Madame Merle added, ”it won't be an easy matterfor Osmond to marry Miss Archer. Yet he can try.”
”I hope she'll refuse him. It will take him down a little.”
”We mustn't forget that he is one of the cleverest of men.”
”I've heard you say that before, but I haven't yet discovered what hehas done.”
”What he has done? He has done nothing that has had to be undone. And hehas known how to wait.”
”To wait for Miss Archer's money? How much of it is there?”
”That's not what I mean,” said Madame Merle. ”Miss Archer has seventythousand pounds.”
”Well, it's a pity she's so charming,” the Countess declared. ”To besacrificed, any girl would do. She needn't be superior.”
”If she weren't superior your brother would never look at her. He musthave the best.”
”Yes,” returned the Countess as they went forward a little to meetthe others, ”he's very hard to satisfy. That makes me tremble for herhappiness!”