The Portrait of a Lady — Volume 2

by Henry James

  CHAPTER XLI

  Osmond touched on this matter that evening for the first time; comingvery late into the drawing-room, where she was sitting alone. They hadspent the evening at home, and Pansy had gone to bed; he himself hadbeen sitting since dinner in a small apartment in which he had arrangedhis books and which he called his study. At ten o'clock Lord Warburtonhad come in, as he always did when he knew from Isabel that she was tobe at home; he was going somewhere else and he sat for half an hour.Isabel, after asking him for news of Ralph, said very little to him, onpurpose; she wished him to talk with her stepdaughter. She pretended toread; she even went after a little to the piano; she asked herself ifshe mightn't leave the room. She had come little by little to thinkwell of the idea of Pansy's becoming the wife of the master of beautifulLockleigh, though at first it had not presented itself in a manner toexcite her enthusiasm. Madame Merle, that afternoon, had applied thematch to an accumulation of inflammable material. When Isabel wasunhappy she always looked about her--partly from impulse and partly bytheory--for some form of positive exertion. She could never rid herselfof the sense that unhappiness was a state of disease--of suffering asopposed to doing. To "do"--it hardly mattered what--would thereforebe an escape, perhaps in some degree a remedy. Besides, she wished toconvince herself that she had done everything possible to content herhusband; she was determined not to be haunted by visions of his wife'slimpness under appeal. It would please him greatly to see Pansy marriedto an English nobleman, and justly please him, since this nobleman wasso sound a character. It seemed to Isabel that if she could make it herduty to bring about such an event she should play the part of a goodwife. She wanted to be that; she wanted to be able to believe sincerely,and with proof of it, that she had been that. Then such an undertakinghad other recommendations. It would occupy her, and she desiredoccupation. It would even amuse her, and if she could really amuseherself she perhaps might be saved. Lastly, it would be a service toLord Warburton, who evidently pleased himself greatly with the charminggirl. It was a little "weird" he should--being what he was; but therewas no accounting for such impressions. Pansy might captivate anyone--any one at least but Lord Warburton. Isabel would have thought hertoo small, too slight, perhaps even too artificial for that. There wasalways a little of the doll about her, and that was not what he had beenlooking for. Still, who could say what men ever were looking for? Theylooked for what they found; they knew what pleased them only whenthey saw it. No theory was valid in such matters, and nothing was moreunaccountable or more natural than anything else. If he had cared forHER it might seem odd he should care for Pansy, who was so different;but he had not cared for her so much as he had supposed. Or if he had,he had completely got over it, and it was natural that, as that affairhad failed, he should think something of quite another sort mightsucceed. Enthusiasm, as I say, had not come at first to Isabel, butit came to-day and made her feel almost happy. It was astonishing whathappiness she could still find in the idea of procuring a pleasure forher husband. It was a pity, however, that Edward Rosier had crossedtheir path!

  At this reflection the light that had suddenly gleamed upon that pathlost something of its brightness. Isabel was unfortunately as sure thatPansy thought Mr. Rosier the nicest of all the young men--as sure as ifshe had held an interview with her on the subject. It was very tiresomeshe should be so sure, when she had carefully abstained from informingherself; almost as tiresome as that poor Mr. Rosier should have taken itinto his own head. He was certainly very inferior to Lord Warburton. Itwas not the difference in fortune so much as the difference in the men;the young American was really so light a weight. He was much more ofthe type of the useless fine gentleman than the English nobleman. Itwas true that there was no particular reason why Pansy should marry astatesman; still, if a statesman admired her, that was his affair, andshe would make a perfect little pearl of a peeress.

  It may seem to the reader that Mrs. Osmond had grown of a suddenstrangely cynical, for she ended by saying to herself that thisdifficulty could probably be arranged. An impediment that was embodiedin poor Rosier could not anyhow present itself as a dangerous one; therewere always means of levelling secondary obstacles. Isabel was perfectlyaware that she had not taken the measure of Pansy's tenacity, whichmight prove to be inconveniently great; but she inclined to see heras rather letting go, under suggestion, than as clutching underdeprecation--since she had certainly the faculty of assent developed ina very much higher degree than that of protest. She would cling, yes,she would cling; but it really mattered to her very little what sheclung to. Lord Warburton would do as well as Mr. Rosier--especially asshe seemed quite to like him; she had expressed this sentiment to Isabelwithout a single reservation she had said she thought his conversationmost interesting--he had told her all about India. His manner to Pansyhad been of the rightest and easiest--Isabel noticed that for herself,as she also observed that he talked to her not in the least in apatronising way, reminding himself of her youth and simplicity, butquite as if she understood his subjects with that sufficiency with whichshe followed those of the fashionable operas. This went far enoughfor attention to the music and the barytone. He was careful only to bekind--he was as kind as he had been to another fluttered young chit atGardencourt. A girl might well be touched by that; she remembered howshe herself had been touched, and said to herself that if she had beenas simple as Pansy the impression would have been deeper still. Shehad not been simple when she refused him; that operation had beenas complicated as, later, her acceptance of Osmond had been. Pansy,however, in spite of HER simplicity, really did understand, and wasglad that Lord Warburton should talk to her, not about her partners andbouquets, but about the state of Italy, the condition of the peasantry,the famous grist-tax, the pellagra, his impressions of Roman society.She looked at him, as she drew her needle through her tapestry, withsweet submissive eyes, and when she lowered them she gave little quietoblique glances at his person, his hands, his feet, his clothes, as ifshe were considering him. Even his person, Isabel might have remindedher, was better than Mr. Rosier's. But Isabel contented herself at suchmoments with wondering where this gentleman was; he came no more at allto Palazzo Roccanera. It was surprising, as I say, the hold it had takenof her--the idea of assisting her husband to be pleased.

  It was surprising for a variety of reasons which I shall presently touchupon. On the evening I speak of, while Lord Warburton sat there, she hadbeen on the point of taking the great step of going out of the room andleaving her companions alone. I say the great step, because it was inthis light that Gilbert Osmond would have regarded it, and Isabel wastrying as much as possible to take her husband's view. She succeededafter a fashion, but she fell short of the point I mention. After allshe couldn't rise to it; something held her and made this impossible.It was not exactly that it would be base or insidious; for women as ageneral thing practise such manoeuvres with a perfectly good conscience,and Isabel was instinctively much more true than false to the commongenius of her sex. There was a vague doubt that interposed--a sense thatshe was not quite sure. So she remained in the drawing-room, and after awhile Lord Warburton went off to his party, of which he promised to givePansy a full account on the morrow. After he had gone she wonderedif she had prevented something which would have happened if shehad absented herself for a quarter of an hour; and then shepronounced--always mentally--that when their distinguished visitorshould wish her to go away he would easily find means to let her knowit. Pansy said nothing whatever about him after he had gone, and Isabelstudiously said nothing, as she had taken a vow of reserve until afterhe should have declared himself. He was a little longer in coming tothis than might seem to accord with the description he had given Isabelof his feelings. Pansy went to bed, and Isabel had to admit thatshe could not now guess what her stepdaughter was thinking of. Hertransparent little companion was for the moment not to be seen through.

  She remained alone, looking at the fire, until, at the end of half anhour, her husband came in. He moved about a while in silen
ce andthen sat down; he looked at the fire like herself. But she now hadtransferred her eyes from the flickering flame in the chimney toOsmond's face, and she watched him while he kept his silence. Covertobservation had become a habit with her; an instinct, of which it is notan exaggeration to say that it was allied to that of self-defence, hadmade it habitual. She wished as much as possible to know his thoughts,to know what he would say, beforehand, so that she might prepare heranswer. Preparing answers had not been her strong point of old; she hadrarely in this respect got further than thinking afterwards of cleverthings she might have said. But she had learned caution--learned it ina measure from her husband's very countenance. It was the same face shehad looked into with eyes equally earnest perhaps, but less penetrating,on the terrace of a Florentine villa; except that Osmond had grownslightly stouter since his marriage. He still, however, might strike oneas very distinguished.

  "Has Lord Warburton been here?" he presently asked.

  "Yes, he stayed half an hour."

  "Did he see Pansy?"

  "Yes; he sat on the sofa beside her."

  "Did he talk with her much?"

  "He talked almost only to her."

  "It seems to me he's attentive. Isn't that what you call it?"

  "I don't call it anything," said Isabel; "I've waited for you to give ita name."

  "That's a consideration you don't always show," Osmond answered after amoment.

  "I've determined, this time, to try and act as you'd like. I've so oftenfailed of that."

  Osmond turned his head slowly, looking at her. "Are you trying toquarrel with me?"

  "No, I'm trying to live at peace."

  "Nothing's more easy; you know I don't quarrel myself."

  "What do you call it when you try to make me angry?" Isabel asked.

  "I don't try; if I've done so it has been the most natural thing in theworld. Moreover I'm not in the least trying now."

  Isabel smiled. "It doesn't matter. I've determined never to be angryagain."

  "That's an excellent resolve. Your temper isn't good."

  "No--it's not good." She pushed away the book she had been reading andtook up the band of tapestry Pansy had left on the table.

  "That's partly why I've not spoken to you about this business of mydaughter's," Osmond said, designating Pansy in the manner that was mostfrequent with him. "I was afraid I should encounter opposition--that youtoo would have views on the subject. I've sent little Rosier about hisbusiness."

  "You were afraid I'd plead for Mr. Rosier? Haven't you noticed that I'venever spoken to you of him?"

  "I've never given you a chance. We've so little conversation in thesedays. I know he was an old friend of yours."

  "Yes; he's an old friend of mine." Isabel cared little more for him thanfor the tapestry that she held in her hand; but it was true that hewas an old friend and that with her husband she felt a desire not toextenuate such ties. He had a way of expressing contempt for them whichfortified her loyalty to them, even when, as in the present case, theywere in themselves insignificant. She sometimes felt a sort of passionof tenderness for memories which had no other merit than that theybelonged to her unmarried life. "But as regards Pansy," she added in amoment, "I've given him no encouragement."

  "That's fortunate," Osmond observed.

  "Fortunate for me, I suppose you mean. For him it matters little."

  "There's no use talking of him," Osmond said. "As I tell you, I'veturned him out."

  "Yes; but a lover outside's always a lover. He's sometimes even more ofone. Mr. Rosier still has hope."

  "He's welcome to the comfort of it! My daughter has only to sitperfectly quiet to become Lady Warburton."

  "Should you like that?" Isabel asked with a simplicity which was notso affected as it may appear. She was resolved to assume nothing, forOsmond had a way of unexpectedly turning her assumptions against her.The intensity with which he would like his daughter to become LadyWarburton had been the very basis of her own recent reflections. Butthat was for herself; she would recognise nothing until Osmond shouldhave put it into words; she would not take for granted with him thathe thought Lord Warburton a prize worth an amount of effort that wasunusual among the Osmonds. It was Gilbert's constant intimation that forhim nothing in life was a prize; that he treated as from equal to equalwith the most distinguished people in the world, and that his daughterhad only to look about her to pick out a prince. It cost him thereforea lapse from consistency to say explicitly that he yearned for LordWarburton and that if this nobleman should escape his equivalent mightnot be found; with which moreover it was another of his customaryimplications that he was never inconsistent. He would have liked hiswife to glide over the point. But strangely enough, now that shewas face to face with him and although an hour before she had almostinvented a scheme for pleasing him, Isabel was not accommodating,would not glide. And yet she knew exactly the effect on his mind ofher question: it would operate as an humiliation. Never mind; he wasterribly capable of humiliating her--all the more so that he was alsocapable of waiting for great opportunities and of showing sometimes analmost unaccountable indifference to small ones. Isabel perhaps took asmall opportunity because she would not have availed herself of a greatone.

  Osmond at present acquitted himself very honourably. "I should like itextremely; it would be a great marriage. And then Lord Warburton hasanother advantage: he's an old friend of yours. It would be pleasant forhim to come into the family. It's very odd Pansy's admirers should allbe your old friends."

  "It's natural that they should come to see me. In coming to see me theysee Pansy. Seeing her it's natural they should fall in love with her."

  "So I think. But you're not bound to do so."

  "If she should marry Lord Warburton I should be very glad," Isabel wenton frankly. "He's an excellent man. You say, however, that she has onlyto sit perfectly still. Perhaps she won't sit perfectly still. If sheloses Mr. Rosier she may jump up!"

  Osmond appeared to give no heed to this; he sat gazing at the fire."Pansy would like to be a great lady," he remarked in a moment with acertain tenderness of tone. "She wishes above all to please," he added.

  "To please Mr. Rosier, perhaps."

  "No, to please me."

  "Me too a little, I think," said Isabel.

  "Yes, she has a great opinion of you. But she'll do what I like."

  "If you're sure of that, it's very well," she went on.

  "Meantime," said Osmond, "I should like our distinguished visitor tospeak."

  "He has spoken--to me. He has told me it would be a great pleasure tohim to believe she could care for him."

  Osmond turned his head quickly, but at first he said nothing. Then, "Whydidn't you tell me that?" he asked sharply.

  "There was no opportunity. You know how we live. I've taken the firstchance that has offered."

  "Did you speak to him of Rosier?"

  "Oh yes, a little."

  "That was hardly necessary."

  "I thought it best he should know, so that, so that--" And Isabelpaused.

  "So that what?"

  "So that he might act accordingly."

  "So that he might back out, do you mean?"

  "No, so that he might advance while there's yet time."

  "That's not the effect it seems to have had."

  "You should have patience," said Isabel. "You know Englishmen are shy."

  "This one's not. He was not when he made love to YOU."

  She had been afraid Osmond would speak of that; it was disagreeable toher. "I beg your pardon he was extremely so," she returned.

  He answered nothing for some time; he took up a book and fingered thepages while she sat silent and occupied herself with Pansy's tapestry."You must have a great deal of influence with him," Osmond went on atlast. "The moment you really wish it you can bring him to the point."

  This was more offensive still; but she felt the great naturalness ofhis saying it, and it was after all extremely like what she had saidto herself. "
Why should I have influence?" she asked. "What have I everdone to put him under an obligation to me?"

  "You refused to marry him," said Osmond with his eyes on his book.

  "I must not presume too much on that," she replied.

  He threw down the book presently and got up, standing before the firewith his hands behind him. "Well, I hold that it lies in your hands. Ishall leave it there. With a little good-will you may manage it. Thinkthat over and remember how much I count on you." He waited a little,to give her time to answer; but she answered nothing, and he presentlystrolled out of the room.