Henry James: The Portrait of a Lady, The Bostonians, The Tragic Muse & Daisy Miller (4 Books in One Edition). Henry Foss James
said Ralph. “But it’s really a bad way.”
“Oh, I think it’s so nice. I wish we had a gallery at Lockleigh. I’m so very fond of pictures,” Miss Molyneux went on, persistently, to Ralph, as if she were afraid Miss Stackpole would address her again. Henrietta appeared at once to fascinate and to frighten her.
“Ah yes, pictures are very convenient,” said Ralph, who appeared to know better what style of reflexion was acceptable to her.
“They’re so very pleasant when it rains,” the young lady continued. “It has rained of late so very often.”
“I’m sorry you’re going away, Lord Warburton,” said Henrietta. “I wanted to get a great deal more out of you.”
“I’m not going away,” Lord Warburton answered.
“Your sister says you must. In America the gentlemen obey the ladies.”
“I’m afraid we have some people to tea,” said Miss Molyneux, looking at her brother.
“Very good, my dear. We’ll go.”
“I hoped you would resist!” Henrietta exclaimed. “I wanted to see what Miss Molyneux would do.”
“I never do anything,” said this young lady.
“I suppose in your position it’s sufficient for you to exist!” Miss Stackpole returned. “I should like very much to see you at home.”
“You must come to Lockleigh again,” said Miss Molyneux, very sweetly, to Isabel, ignoring this remark of Isabel’s friend. Isabel looked into her quiet eyes a moment, and for that moment seemed to see in their grey depths the reflexion of everything she had rejected in rejecting Lord Warburton — the peace, the kindness, the honour, the possessions, a deep security and a great exclusion. She kissed Miss Molyneux and then she said: “I’m afraid I can never come again.”
“Never again?”
“I’m afraid I’m going away.”
“Oh, I’m so very sorry,” said Miss Molyneux. “I think that’s so very wrong of you.”
Lord Warburton watched this little passage; then he turned away and stared at a picture. Ralph, leaning against the rail before the picture with his hands in his pockets, had for the moment been watching him.
“I should like to see you at home,” said Henrietta, whom Lord Warburton found beside him. “I should like an hour’s talk with you; there are a great many questions I wish to ask you.”
“I shall be delighted to see you,” the proprietor of Lockleigh answered; “but I’m certain not to be able to answer many of your questions. When will you come?”
“Whenever Miss Archer will take me. We’re thinking of going to London, but we’ll go and see you first. I’m determined to get some satisfaction out of you.”
“If it depends upon Miss Archer I’m afraid you won’t get much. She won’t come to Lockleigh; she doesn’t like the place.”
“She told me it was lovely!” said Henrietta.
Lord Warburton hesitated. “She won’t come, all the same. You had better come alone,” he added.
Henrietta straightened herself, and her large eyes expanded. “Would you make that remark to an English lady?” she enquired with soft asperity.
Lord Warburton stared. “Yes, if I liked her enough.”
“You’d be careful not to like her enough. If Miss Archer won’t visit your place again it’s because she doesn’t want to take me. I know what she thinks of me, and I suppose you think the same — that I oughtn’t to bring in individuals.” Lord Warburton was at a loss; he had not been made acquainted with Miss Stackpole’s professional character and failed to catch her allusion. “Miss Archer has been warning you!” she therefore went on.
“Warning me?”
“Isn’t that why she came off alone with you here — to put you on your guard?”
“Oh dear, no,” said Lord Warburton brazenly; “our talk had no such solemn character as that.”
“Well, you’ve been on your guard — intensely. I suppose it’s natural to you; that’s just what I wanted to observe. And so, too, Miss Molyneux — she wouldn’t commit herself. You have been warned, anyway,” Henrietta continued, addressing this young lady; “but for you it wasn’t necessary.”
“I hope not,” said Miss Molyneux vaguely.
“Miss Stackpole takes notes,” Ralph soothingly explained. “She’s a great satirist; she sees through us all and she works us up.”
“Well, I must say I never have had such a collection of bad material!” Henrietta declared, looking from Isabel to Lord Warburton and from this nobleman to his sister and to Ralph. “There’s something the matter with you all; you’re as dismal as if you had got a bad cable.”
“You do see through us, Miss Stackpole,” said Ralph in a low tone, giving her a little intelligent nod as he led the party out of the gallery. “There’s something the matter with us all.”
Isabel came behind these two; Miss Molyneux, who decidedly liked her immensely, had taken her arm, to walk beside her over the polished floor. Lord Warburton strolled on the other side with his hands behind him and his eyes lowered. For some moments he said nothing; and then, “Is it true you’re going to London?” he asked.
“I believe it has been arranged.”
“And when shall you come back?”
“In a few days; but probably for a very short time. I’m going to Paris with my aunt.”
“When, then, shall I see you again?”
“Not for a good while,” said Isabel. “But some day or other, I hope.”
“Do you really hope it?”
“Very much.”
He went a few steps in silence; then he stopped and put out his hand. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” said Isabel.
Miss Molyneux kissed her again, and she let the two depart. After it, without rejoining Henrietta and Ralph, she retreated to her own room; in which apartment, before dinner, she was found by Mrs. Touchett, who had stopped on her way to the salon. “I may as well tell you,” said that lady, “that your uncle has informed me of your relations with Lord Warburton.”
Isabel considered. “Relations? They’re hardly relations. That’s the strange part of it: he has seen me but three or four times.”
“Why did you tell your uncle rather than me?” Mrs. Touchett dispassionately asked.
Again the girl hesitated. “Because he knows Lord Warburton better.”
“Yes, but I know you better.”
“I’m not sure of that,” said Isabel, smiling.
“Neither am I, after all; especially when you give me that rather conceited look. One would think you were awfully pleased with yourself and had carried off a prize! I suppose that when you refuse an offer like Lord Warburton’s it’s because you expect to do something better.”
“Ah, my uncle didn’t say that!” cried Isabel, smiling still.
Chapter XV
It had been arranged that the two young ladies should proceed to London under Ralph’s escort, though Mrs. Touchett looked with little favour on the plan. It was just the sort of plan, she said, that Miss Stackpole would be sure to suggest, and she enquired if the correspondent