The Portrait of a Lady — Volume 2

by Henry James

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  He went to see Madame Merle on the morrow, and to his surprise she lethim off rather easily. But she made him promise that he would stopthere till something should have been decided. Mr. Osmond had had higherexpectations; it was very true that as he had no intention of giving hisdaughter a portion such expectations were open to criticism or even, ifone would, to ridicule. But she would advise Mr. Rosier not to take thattone; if he would possess his soul in patience he might arrive at hisfelicity. Mr. Osmond was not favourable to his suit, but it wouldn't bea miracle if he should gradually come round. Pansy would never defyher father, he might depend on that; so nothing was to be gained byprecipitation. Mr. Osmond needed to accustom his mind to an offer of asort that he had not hitherto entertained, and this result must come ofitself--it was useless to try to force it. Rosier remarked that his ownsituation would be in the meanwhile the most uncomfortable in the world,and Madame Merle assured him that she felt for him. But, as she justlydeclared, one couldn't have everything one wanted; she had learned thatlesson for herself. There would be no use in his writing to GilbertOsmond, who had charged her to tell him as much. He wished the matterdropped for a few weeks and would himself write when he should haveanything to communicate that it might please Mr. Rosier to hear.

  "He doesn't like your having spoken to Pansy, Ah, he doesn't like it atall," said Madame Merle.

  "I'm perfectly willing to give him a chance to tell me so!"

  "If you do that he'll tell you more than you care to hear. Go to thehouse, for the next month, as little as possible, and leave the rest tome."

  "As little as possible? Who's to measure the possibility?"

  "Let me measure it. Go on Thursday evenings with the rest of the world,but don't go at all at odd times, and don't fret about Pansy. I'll seethat she understands everything. She's a calm little nature; she'll takeit quietly."

  Edward Rosier fretted about Pansy a good deal, but he did as he wasadvised, and awaited another Thursday evening before returning toPalazzo Roccanera. There had been a party at dinner, so that though hewent early the company was already tolerably numerous. Osmond, as usual,was in the first room, near the fire, staring straight at the door, sothat, not to be distinctly uncivil, Rosier had to go and speak to him.

  "I'm glad that you can take a hint," Pansy's father said, slightlyclosing his keen, conscious eyes.

  "I take no hints. But I took a message, as I supposed it to be."

  "You took it? Where did you take it?"

  It seemed to poor Rosier he was being insulted, and he waited a moment,asking himself how much a true lover ought to submit to. "Madame Merlegave me, as I understood it, a message from you--to the effect that youdeclined to give me the opportunity I desire, the opportunity to explainmy wishes to you." And he flattered himself he spoke rather sternly.

  "I don't see what Madame Merle has to do with it. Why did you apply toMadame Merle?"

  "I asked her for an opinion--for nothing more. I did so because she hadseemed to me to know you very well."

  "She doesn't know me so well as she thinks," said Osmond.

  "I'm sorry for that, because she has given me some little ground forhope."

  Osmond stared into the fire a moment. "I set a great price on mydaughter."

  "You can't set a higher one than I do. Don't I prove it by wishing tomarry her?"

  "I wish to marry her very well," Osmond went on with a dry impertinencewhich, in another mood, poor Rosier would have admired.

  "Of course I pretend she'd marry well in marrying me. She couldn'tmarry a man who loves her more--or whom, I may venture to add, she lovesmore."

  "I'm not bound to accept your theories as to whom my daughterloves"--and Osmond looked up with a quick, cold smile.

  "I'm not theorising. Your daughter has spoken."

  "Not to me," Osmond continued, now bending forward a little and droppinghis eyes to his boot-toes.

  "I have her promise, sir!" cried Rosier with the sharpness ofexasperation.

  As their voices had been pitched very low before, such a note attractedsome attention from the company. Osmond waited till this little movementhad subsided; then he said, all undisturbed: "I think she has norecollection of having given it."

  They had been standing with their faces to the fire, and after he haduttered these last words the master of the house turned round againto the room. Before Rosier had time to reply he perceived that agentleman--a stranger--had just come in, unannounced, according to theRoman custom, and was about to present himself to his host. The lattersmiled blandly, but somewhat blankly; the visitor had a handsome faceand a large, fair beard, and was evidently an Englishman.

  "You apparently don't recognise me," he said with a smile that expressedmore than Osmond's.

  "Ah yes, now I do. I expected so little to see you."

  Rosier departed and went in direct pursuit of Pansy. He sought her, asusual, in the neighbouring room, but he again encountered Mrs. Osmondin his path. He gave his hostess no greeting--he was too righteouslyindignant, but said to her crudely: "Your husband's awfullycold-blooded."

  She gave the same mystical smile he had noticed before. "You can'texpect every one to be as hot as yourself."

  "I don't pretend to be cold, but I'm cool. What has he been doing to hisdaughter?"

  "I've no idea."

  "Don't you take any interest?" Rosier demanded with his sense that shetoo was irritating.

  For a moment she answered nothing; then, "No!" she said abruptly andwith a quickened light in her eyes which directly contradicted the word.

  "Pardon me if I don't believe that. Where's Miss Osmond?"

  "In the corner, making tea. Please leave her there."

  Rosier instantly discovered his friend, who had been hidden byintervening groups. He watched her, but her own attention was entirelygiven to her occupation. "What on earth has he done to her?" he askedagain imploringly. "He declares to me she has given me up."

  "She has not given you up," Isabel said in a low tone and withoutlooking at him.

  "Ah, thank you for that! Now I'll leave her alone as long as you thinkproper!"

  He had hardly spoken when he saw her change colour, and became awarethat Osmond was coming toward her accompanied by the gentleman who hadjust entered. He judged the latter, in spite of the advantage of goodlooks and evident social experience, a little embarrassed. "Isabel,"said her husband, "I bring you an old friend."

  Mrs. Osmond's face, though it wore a smile, was, like her old friend's,not perfectly confident. "I'm very happy to see Lord Warburton," shesaid. Rosier turned away and, now that his talk with her had beeninterrupted, felt absolved from the little pledge he had just taken. Hehad a quick impression that Mrs. Osmond wouldn't notice what he did.

  Isabel in fact, to do him justice, for some time quite ceased to observehim. She had been startled; she hardly knew if she felt a pleasure ora pain. Lord Warburton, however, now that he was face to face with her,was plainly quite sure of his own sense of the matter; though his greyeyes had still their fine original property of keeping recognition andattestation strictly sincere. He was "heavier" than of yore and lookedolder; he stood there very solidly and sensibly.

  "I suppose you didn't expect to see me," he said; "I've but justarrived. Literally, I only got here this evening. You see I've lostno time in coming to pay you my respects. I knew you were at home onThursdays."

  "You see the fame of your Thursdays has spread to England," Osmondremarked to his wife.

  "It's very kind of Lord Warburton to come so soon we're greatlyflattered," Isabel said.

  "Ah well, it's better than stopping in one of those horrible inns,"Osmond went on.

  "The hotel seems very good; I think it's the same at which I saw youfour years since. You know it was here in Rome that we first met; it's along time ago. Do you remember where I bade you good-bye?" his lordshipasked of his hostess. "It was in the Capitol, in the first room."

  "I remember that myself," said Osmond. "I w
as there at the time."

  "Yes, I remember you there. I was very sorry to leave Rome--so sorrythat, somehow or other, it became almost a dismal memory, and I've nevercared to come back till to-day. But I knew you were living here," herold friend went on to Isabel, "and I assure you I've often thought ofyou. It must be a charming place to live in," he added with a look,round him, at her established home, in which she might have caught thedim ghost of his old ruefulness.

  "We should have been glad to see you at any time," Osmond observed withpropriety.

  "Thank you very much. I haven't been out of England since then. Till amonth ago I really supposed my travels over."

  "I've heard of you from time to time," said Isabel, who had already,with her rare capacity for such inward feats, taken the measure of whatmeeting him again meant for her.

  "I hope you've heard no harm. My life has been a remarkably completeblank."

  "Like the good reigns in history," Osmond suggested. He appeared tothink his duties as a host now terminated--he had performed them soconscientiously. Nothing could have been more adequate, morenicely measured, than his courtesy to his wife's old friend. Itwas punctilious, it was explicit, it was everything but natural--adeficiency which Lord Warburton, who, himself, had on the whole a gooddeal of nature, may be supposed to have perceived. "I'll leave you andMrs. Osmond together," he added. "You have reminiscences into which Idon't enter."

  "I'm afraid you lose a good deal!" Lord Warburton called after him, ashe moved away, in a tone which perhaps betrayed overmuch an appreciationof his generosity. Then the visitor turned on Isabel the deeper, thedeepest, consciousness of his look, which gradually became more serious."I'm really very glad to see you."

  "It's very pleasant. You're very kind."

  "Do you know that you're changed--a little?"

  She just hesitated. "Yes--a good deal."

  "I don't mean for the worse, of course; and yet how can I say for thebetter?"

  "I think I shall have no scruple in saying that to YOU," she bravelyreturned.

  "Ah well, for me--it's a long time. It would be a pity there shouldn'tbe something to show for it." They sat down and she asked him abouthis sisters, with other enquiries of a somewhat perfunctory kind. Heanswered her questions as if they interested him, and in a few momentsshe saw--or believed she saw--that he would press with less of hiswhole weight than of yore. Time had breathed upon his heart and, withoutchilling it, given it a relieved sense of having taken the air. Isabelfelt her usual esteem for Time rise at a bound. Her friend's manner wascertainly that of a contented man, one who would rather like people, orlike her at least, to know him for such. "There's something I must tellyou without more delay," he resumed. "I've brought Ralph Touchett withme."

  "Brought him with you?" Isabel's surprise was great.

  "He's at the hotel; he was too tired to come out and has gone to bed."

  "I'll go to see him," she immediately said.

  "That's exactly what I hoped you'd do. I had an idea you hadn't seenmuch of him since your marriage, that in fact your relations were a--alittle more formal. That's why I hesitated--like an awkward Briton."

  "I'm as fond of Ralph as ever," Isabel answered. "But why has he come toRome?" The declaration was very gentle, the question a little sharp.

  "Because he's very far gone, Mrs. Osmond."

  "Rome then is no place for him. I heard from him that he had determinedto give up his custom of wintering abroad and to remain in England,indoors, in what he called an artificial climate."

  "Poor fellow, he doesn't succeed with the artificial! I went to see himthree weeks ago, at Gardencourt, and found him thoroughly ill. He hasbeen getting worse every year, and now he has no strength left. Hesmokes no more cigarettes! He had got up an artificial climate indeed;the house was as hot as Calcutta. Nevertheless he had suddenly taken itinto his head to start for Sicily. I didn't believe in it--neither didthe doctors, nor any of his friends. His mother, as I suppose you know,is in America, so there was no one to prevent him. He stuck to his ideathat it would be the saving of him to spend the winter at Catania.He said he could take servants and furniture, could make himselfcomfortable, but in point of fact he hasn't brought anything. I wantedhim at least to go by sea, to save fatigue; but he said he hated the seaand wished to stop at Rome. After that, though I thought it all rubbish,I made up my mind to come with him. I'm acting as--what do you call itin America?--as a kind of moderator. Poor Ralph's very moderate now. Weleft England a fortnight ago, and he has been very bad on the way. Hecan't keep warm, and the further south we come the more he feels thecold. He has got rather a good man, but I'm afraid he's beyond humanhelp. I wanted him to take with him some clever fellow--I mean somesharp young doctor; but he wouldn't hear of it. If you don't mind mysaying so, I think it was a most extraordinary time for Mrs. Touchett todecide on going to America."

  Isabel had listened eagerly; her face was full of pain and wonder. "Myaunt does that at fixed periods and lets nothing turn her aside. Whenthe date comes round she starts; I think she'd have started if Ralph hadbeen dying."

  "I sometimes think he IS dying," Lord Warburton said.

  Isabel sprang up. "I'll go to him then now."

  He checked her; he was a little disconcerted at the quick effect of hiswords. "I don't mean I thought so to-night. On the contrary, to-day,in the train, he seemed particularly well; the idea of our reachingRome--he's very fond of Rome, you know--gave him strength. An hour ago,when I bade him goodnight, he told me he was very tired, but very happy.Go to him in the morning; that's all I mean. I didn't tell him I wascoming here; I didn't decide to till after we had separated. Then Iremembered he had told me you had an evening, and that it was this veryThursday. It occurred to me to come in and tell you he's here, and letyou know you had perhaps better not wait for him to call. I think hesaid he hadn't written to you." There was no need of Isabel's declaringthat she would act upon Lord Warburton's information she looked, as shesat there, like a winged creature held back. "Let alone that I wanted tosee you for myself," her visitor gallantly added.

  "I don't understand Ralph's plan; it seems to me very wild," she said."I was glad to think of him between those thick walls at Gardencourt."

  "He was completely alone there; the thick walls were his only company."

  "You went to see him; you've been extremely kind."

  "Oh dear, I had nothing to do," said Lord Warburton.

  "We hear, on the contrary, that you're doing great things. Every onespeaks of you as a great statesman, and I'm perpetually seeing your namein the Times, which, by the way, doesn't appear to hold it in reverence.You're apparently as wild a radical as ever."

  "I don't feel nearly so wild; you know the world has come round to me.Touchett and I have kept up a sort of parliamentary debate all the wayfrom London. I tell him he's the last of the Tories, and he calls methe King of the Goths--says I have, down to the details of my personalappearance, every sign of the brute. So you see there's life in himyet."

  Isabel had many questions to ask about Ralph, but she abstained fromasking them all. She would see for herself on the morrow. She perceivedthat after a little Lord Warburton would tire of that subject--he had aconception of other possible topics. She was more and more able to sayto herself that he had recovered, and, what is more to the point, shewas able to say it without bitterness. He had been for her, of old,such an image of urgency, of insistence, of something to be resistedand reasoned with, that his reappearance at first menaced her with a newtrouble. But she was now reassured; she could see he only wished to livewith her on good terms, that she was to understand he had forgiven herand was incapable of the bad taste of making pointed allusions. This wasnot a form of revenge, of course; she had no suspicion of his wishing topunish her by an exhibition of disillusionment; she did him the justiceto believe it had simply occurred to him that she would now take agood-natured interest in knowing he was resigned. It was the resignationof a healthy, manly nature, in which sentimental wounds could neverfes
ter. British politics had cured him; she had known they would. Shegave an envious thought to the happier lot of men, who are always freeto plunge into the healing waters of action. Lord Warburton of coursespoke of the past, but he spoke of it without implications; he evenwent so far as to allude to their former meeting in Rome as a very jollytime. And he told her he had been immensely interested in hearing of hermarriage and that it was a great pleasure for him to make Mr. Osmond'sacquaintance--since he could hardly be said to have made it on the otheroccasion. He had not written to her at the time of that passage in herhistory, but he didn't apologise to her for this. The only thing heimplied was that they were old friends, intimate friends. It was verymuch as an intimate friend that he said to her, suddenly, after a shortpause which he had occupied in smiling, as he looked about him, like aperson amused, at a provincial entertainment, by some innocent game ofguesses--

  "Well now, I suppose you're very happy and all that sort of thing?"

  Isabel answered with a quick laugh; the tone of his remark struck heralmost as the accent of comedy. "Do you suppose if I were not I'd tellyou?"

  "Well, I don't know. I don't see why not."

  "I do then. Fortunately, however, I'm very happy."

  "You've got an awfully good house."

  "Yes, it's very pleasant. But that's not my merit--it's my husband's."

  "You mean he has arranged it?"

  "Yes, it was nothing when we came."

  "He must be very clever."

  "He has a genius for upholstery," said Isabel.

  "There's a great rage for that sort of thing now. But you must have ataste of your own."

  "I enjoy things when they're done, but I've no ideas. I can neverpropose anything."

  "Do you mean you accept what others propose?"

  "Very willingly, for the most part."

  "That's a good thing to know. I shall propose to you something."

  "It will be very kind. I must say, however, that I've in a few smallways a certain initiative. I should like for instance to introduce youto some of these people."

  "Oh, please don't; I prefer sitting here. Unless it be to that younglady in the blue dress. She has a charming face."

  "The one talking to the rosy young man? That's my husband's daughter."

  "Lucky man, your husband. What a dear little maid!"

  "You must make her acquaintance."

  "In a moment--with pleasure. I like looking at her from here." He ceasedto look at her, however, very soon his eyes constantly reverted to Mrs.Osmond. "Do you know I was wrong just now in saying you had changed?" hepresently went on. "You seem to me, after all, very much the same."

  "And yet I find it a great change to be married," said Isabel with mildgaiety.

  "It affects most people more than it has affected you. You see I haven'tgone in for that."

  "It rather surprises me."

  "You ought to understand it, Mrs. Osmond. But I do want to marry," headded more simply.

  "It ought to be very easy," Isabel said, rising--after which shereflected, with a pang perhaps too visible, that she was hardly theperson to say this. It was perhaps because Lord Warburton divined thepang that he generously forbore to call her attention to her not havingcontributed then to the facility.

  Edward Rosier had meanwhile seated himself on an ottoman beside Pansy'stea-table. He pretended at first to talk to her about trifles, and sheasked him who was the new gentleman conversing with her stepmother.

  "He's an English lord," said Rosier. "I don't know more."

  "I wonder if he'll have some tea. The English are so fond of tea."

  "Never mind that; I've something particular to say to you."

  "Don't speak so loud every one will hear," said Pansy.

  "They won't hear if you continue to look that way: as if your onlythought in life was the wish the kettle would boil."

  "It has just been filled; the servants never know!"--and she sighed withthe weight of her responsibility.

  "Do you know what your father said to me just now? That you didn't meanwhat you said a week ago."

  "I don't mean everything I say. How can a young girl do that? But I meanwhat I say to you."

  "He told me you had forgotten me."

  "Ah no, I don't forget," said Pansy, showing her pretty teeth in a fixedsmile.

  "Then everything's just the very same?"

  "Ah no, not the very same. Papa has been terribly severe."

  "What has he done to you?"

  "He asked me what you had done to me, and I told him everything. Then heforbade me to marry you."

  "You needn't mind that."

  "Oh yes, I must indeed. I can't disobey papa."

  "Not for one who loves you as I do, and whom you pretend to love?"

  She raised the lid of the tea-pot, gazing into this vessel for a moment;then she dropped six words into its aromatic depths. "I love you just asmuch."

  "What good will that do me?"

  "Ah," said Pansy, raising her sweet, vague eyes, "I don't know that."

  "You disappoint me," groaned poor Rosier.

  She was silent a little; she handed a tea-cup to a servant. "Pleasedon't talk any more."

  "Is this to be all my satisfaction?"

  "Papa said I was not to talk with you."

  "Do you sacrifice me like that? Ah, it's too much!"

  "I wish you'd wait a little," said the girl in a voice just distinctenough to betray a quaver.

  "Of course I'll wait if you'll give me hope. But you take my life away."

  "I'll not give you up--oh no!" Pansy went on.

  "He'll try and make you marry some one else."

  "I'll never do that."

  "What then are we to wait for?"

  She hesitated again. "I'll speak to Mrs. Osmond and she'll help us." Itwas in this manner that she for the most part designated her stepmother.

  "She won't help us much. She's afraid."

  "Afraid of what?"

  "Of your father, I suppose."

  Pansy shook her little head. "She's not afraid of any one. We must havepatience."

  "Ah, that's an awful word," Rosier groaned; he was deeply disconcerted.Oblivious of the customs of good society, he dropped his head into hishands and, supporting it with a melancholy grace, sat staring at thecarpet. Presently he became aware of a good deal of movement abouthim and, as he looked up, saw Pansy making a curtsey--it was still herlittle curtsey of the convent--to the English lord whom Mrs. Osmond hadintroduced.