Amerigo was away from her again, as she sat there, as she walked there without him — for she had, with the difference of his presence in the house, ceased to keep herself from moving about; but the hour was filled nevertheless with the effect of his nearness, and above all with the effect, strange in an intimacy1 so established, of an almost renewed vision of the facts of his aspect. She had seen him last but five days since, yet he had stood there before her as if restored from some far country, some long voyage, some combination of dangers or fatigues2. This unquenchable variety in his appeal to her interest, what did it mean but that — reduced to the flatness of mere3 statement — she was married, by good fortune, to an altogether dazzling person? That was an old, old story, but the truth of it shone out to her like the beauty of some family picture, some mellow4 portrait of an ancestor, that she might have been looking at, almost in surprise, after a long intermission. The dazzling person was upstairs and she was down, and there were moreover the other facts of the selection and decision that this demonstration5 of her own had required, and of the constant care that the equilibrium6 involved; but she had, all the same, never felt so absorbingly married, so abjectly7 conscious of a master of her fate. He could do what he would with her; in fact what was actually happening was that he was actually doing it. “What he would,” what he REALLY would — only that quantity itself escaped perhaps, in the brightness of the high harmony, familiar naming and discussing. It was enough of a recognition for her that, whatever the thing he might desire, he would always absolutely bring it off. She knew at this moment, without a question, with the fullest surrender, how he had brought off, in her, by scarce more than a single allusion8, a perfect flutter of tenderness. If he had come back tired, tired from his long day, the exertion9 had been, literally10, in her service and her father’s. They two had sat at home at peace, the Principino between them, the complications of life kept down, the bores sifted11 out, the large ease of the home preserved, because of the way the others held the field and braved the weather. Amerigo never complained — any more than, for that matter, Charlotte did; but she seemed to see to-night as she had never yet quite done that their business of social representation, conceived as they conceived it, beyond any conception of her own, and conscientiously12 carried out, was an affair of living always in harness. She remembered Fanny Assingham’s old judgment13, that friend’s description of her father and herself as not living at all, as not knowing what to do or what might be done for them; and there came back to her with it an echo of the long talk they had had together, one September day at Fawns14, under the trees, when she put before him this dictum of Fanny’s.
That occasion might have counted for them — she had already often made the reflection — as the first step in an existence more intelligently arranged. It had been an hour from which the chain of causes and consequences was definitely traceable — so many things, and at the head of the list her father’s marriage, having appeared to her to flow from Charlotte’s visit to Fawns, and that event itself having flowed from the memorable15 talk. But what perhaps most came out in the light of these concatenations was that it had been, for all the world, as if Charlotte had been “had in,” as the servants always said of extra help, because they had thus suffered it to be pointed16 out to them that if their family coach lumbered17 and stuck the fault was in its lacking its complement18 of wheels. Having but three, as they might say, it had wanted another, and what had Charlotte done from the first but begin to act, on the spot, and ever so smoothly19 and beautifully, as a fourth? Nothing had been, immediately, more manifest than the greater grace of the movement of the vehicle — as to which, for the completeness of her image, Maggie was now supremely22 to feel how every strain had been lightened for herself. So far as SHE was one of the wheels she had but to keep in her place; since the work was done for her she felt no weight, and it wasn’t too much to acknowledge that she had scarce to turn round. She had a long pause before the fire during which she might have been fixing with intensity23 her projected vision, have been conscious even of its taking an absurd, fantastic shape. She might have been watching the family coach pass and noting that, somehow, Amerigo and Charlotte were pulling it while she and her father were not so much as pushing. They were seated inside together, dandling the Principino and holding him up to the windows, to see and be seen, like an infant positively24 royal; so that the exertion was ALL with the others. Maggie found in this image a repeated challenge; again and yet again she paused before the fire: after which, each time, in the manner of one for whom a strong light has suddenly broken, she gave herself to livelier movement. She had seen herself at last, in the picture she was studying, suddenly jump from the coach; whereupon, frankly25, with the wonder of the sight, her eyes opened wider and her heart stood still for a moment. She looked at the person so acting26 as if this person were somebody else, waiting with intensity to see what would follow. The person had taken a decision — which was evidently because an impulse long gathering27 had at last felt a sharpest pressure. Only how was the decision to be applied28?— what, in particular, would the figure in the picture do? She looked about her, from the middle of the room, under the force of this question, as if THERE, exactly, were the field of action involved. Then, as the door opened again, she recognised, whatever the action, the form, at any rate, of a first opportunity. Her husband had reappeared — he stood before her refreshed, almost radiant, quite reassuring29. Dressed, anointed, fragrant30, ready, above all, for his dinner, he smiled at her over the end of their delay. It was as if her opportunity had depended on his look — and now she saw that it was good. There was still, for the instant, something in suspense31, but it passed more quickly than on his previous entrance. He was already holding out his arms. It was, for hours and hours, later on, as if she had somehow been lifted aloft, were floated and carried on some warm high tide beneath which stumbling blocks had sunk out of sight. This came from her being again, for the time, in the enjoyment32 of confidence, from her knowing, as she believed, what to do. All the next day, and all the next, she appeared to herself to know it. She had a plan, and she rejoiced in her plan: this consisted of the light that, suddenly breaking into her restless reverie, had marked the climax33 of that vigil. It had come to her as a question —“What if I’ve abandoned THEM, you know? What if I’ve accepted too passively the funny form of our life?” There would be a process of her own by which she might do differently in respect to Amerigo and Charlotte — a process quite independent of any process of theirs. Such a solution had but to rise before her to affect her, to charm her, with its simplicity34, an advantageous35 simplicity she had been stupid, for so long, not to have been struck by; and the simplicity meanwhile seemed proved by the success that had already begun to attend her. She had only had herself to do something to see how immediately it answered. This consciousness of its having answered with her husband was the uplifting, sustaining wave. He had “met” her — she so put it to herself; met her with an effect of generosity36 and of gaiety, in especial, on his coming back to her ready for dinner, which she wore in her breast as the token of an escape for them both from something not quite definite, but clearly, much less good. Even at that moment, in fact, her plan had begun to work; she had been, when he brightly reappeared, in the act of plucking it out of the heart of her earnestness — plucking it, in the garden of thought, as if it had been some full-blown flower that she could present to him on the spot. Well, it was the flower of participation37, and as that, then and there, she held it out to him, putting straightway into execution the idea, so needlessly, so absurdly obscured, of her SHARING with him, whatever the enjoyment, the interest, the experience might be-and sharing also, for that matter, with Charlotte.
She had thrown herself, at dinner, into every feature of the recent adventure of the companions, letting him see, without reserve, that she wished to hear everything about it, and making Charlotte in particular, Charlotte’s judgment of Matcham, Charlotte’s aspect, her success there, her effect traceably produced, her clothes inimitably worn, her cleverness gracefully39 displayed, her social utility, in fine, brilliantly exemplified, the subject of endless inquiry40. Maggie’s inquiry was most empathetic, moreover, for the whole happy thought of the cathedral-hunt, which she was so glad they had entertained, and as to the pleasant results of which, down to the cold beef and bread-and-cheese, the queer old smell and the dirty table-cloth at the inn, Amerigo was good-humouredly responsive. He had looked at her across the table, more than once, as if touched by the humility41 of this welcome offered to impressions at second-hand42, the amusements, the large freedoms only of others — as if recognising in it something fairly exquisite43; and at the end, while they were alone, before she had rung for a servant, he had renewed again his condonation44 of the little irregularity, such as it was, on which she had ventured. They had risen together to come upstairs; he had been talking at the last about some of the people, at the very last of all about Lady Castledean and Mr. Blint; after which she had once more broken ground on the matter of the “type” of Gloucester. It brought her, as he came round the table to join her, yet another of his kind conscious stares, one of the looks, visibly beguiled45, but at the same time not invisibly puzzled, with which he had already shown his sense of this charming grace of her curiosity. It was as if he might for a moment be going to say:—“You needn’t PRETEND, dearest, quite so hard, needn’t think it necessary to care quite so much!”— it was as if he stood there before her with some such easy intelligence, some such intimate reassurance47, on his lips. Her answer would have been all ready — that she wasn’t in the least pretending; and she looked up at him, while he took her hand, with the maintenance, the real persistence48, of her lucid49 little plan in her eyes. She wanted him to understand from that very moment that she was going to be WITH him again, quite with them, together, as she doubtless hadn’t been since the “funny” changes — that was really all one could call them — into which they had each, as for the sake of the others, too easily and too obligingly slipped. They had taken too much for granted that their life together required, as people in London said, a special “form”— which was very well so long as the form was kept only for the outside world and was made no more of among themselves than the pretty mould of an iced pudding, or something of that sort, into which, to help yourself, you didn’t hesitate to break with the spoon. So much as that she would, with an opening, have allowed herself furthermore to observe; she wanted him to understand how her scheme embraced Charlotte too; so that if he had but uttered the acknowledgment she judged him on the point of making — the acknowledgment of his catching50 at her brave little idea for their case — she would have found herself, as distinctly, voluble almost to eloquence51.
What befell, however, was that even while she thus waited she felt herself present at a process taking place rather deeper within him than the occasion, on the whole, appeared to require — a process of weighing something in the balance, of considering, deciding, dismissing. He had guessed that she was there with an idea, there in fact by reason of her idea; only this, oddly enough, was what at the last stayed his words. She was helped to these perceptions by his now looking at her still harder than he had yet done — which really brought it to the turn of a hair, for her, that she didn’t make sure his notion of her idea was the right one. It was the turn of a hair, because he had possession of her hands and was bending toward her, ever so kindly52, as if to see, to understand, more, or possibly give more — she didn’t know which; and that had the effect of simply putting her, as she would have said, in his power. She gave up, let her idea go, let everything go; her one consciousness was that he was taking her again into his arms. It was not till afterwards that she discriminated53 as to this; felt how the act operated with him instead of the words he hadn’t uttered — operated, in his view, as probably better than any words, as always better, in fact, at any time, than anything. Her acceptance of it, her response to it, inevitable54, foredoomed, came back to her, later on, as a virtual assent55 to the assumption he had thus made that there was really nothing such a demonstration didn’t anticipate and didn’t dispose of, and that the spring acting within herself moreover might well have been, beyond any other, the impulse legitimately56 to provoke it. It made, for any issue, the third time since his return that he had drawn57 her to his breast; and at present, holding her to his side as they left the room, he kept her close for their moving into the hall and across it, kept her for their slow return together to the apartments above. He had been right, overwhelmingly right, as to the felicity of his tenderness and the degree of her sensibility, but even while she felt these things sweep all others away she tasted of a sort of terror of the weakness they produced in her. It was still, for her, that she had positively something to do, and that she mustn’t be weak for this, must much rather be strong. For many hours after, none the less, she remained weak — if weak it was; though holding fast indeed to the theory of her success, since her agitated58 overture59 had been, after all, so unmistakably met.
She recovered soon enough on the whole, the sense that this left her Charlotte always to deal with — Charlotte who, at any rate, however SHE might meet overtures60, must meet them, at the worst, more or less differently. Of that inevitability61, of such other ranges of response as were open to Charlotte, Maggie took the measure in approaching her, on the morrow of her return from Matcham, with the same show of desire to hear all her story. She wanted the whole picture from her, as she had wanted it from her companion, and, promptly62, in Eaton Square, whither, without the Prince, she repaired, almost ostentatiously, for the purpose, this purpose only, she brought her repeatedly back to the subject, both in her husband’s presence and during several scraps63 of independent colloquy64. Before her father, instinctively65, Maggie took the ground that his wish for interesting echoes would be not less than her own — allowing, that is, for everything his wife would already have had to tell him, for such passages, between them, as might have occurred since the evening before. Joining them after luncheon66, reaching them, in her desire to proceed with the application of her idea, before they had quitted the breakfast-room, the scene of their mid-day meal, she referred, in her parent’s presence, to what she might have lost by delay, and expressed the hope that there would be an anecdote67 or two left for her to pick up. Charlotte was dressed to go out, and her husband, it appeared, rather positively prepared not to; he had left the table, but was seated near the fire with two or three of the morning papers and the residuum of the second and third posts on a stand beside him — more even than the usual extravagance, as Maggie’s glance made out, of circulars, catalogues, advertisements, announcements of sales, foreign envelopes and foreign handwritings that were as unmistakable as foreign clothes. Charlotte, at the window, looking into the side-street that abutted68 on the Square, might have been watching for their visitor’s advent38 before withdrawing; and in the light, strange and coloured, like that of a painted picture, which fixed69 the impression for her, objects took on values not hitherto so fully20 shown. It was the effect of her quickened sensibility; she knew herself again in presence of a problem, in need of a solution for which she must intensely work: that consciousness, lately born in her, had been taught the evening before to accept a temporary lapse70, but had quickly enough again, with her getting out of her own house and her walking across half the town — for she had come from Portland Place on foot — found breath still in its lungs.
It exhaled71 this breath in a sigh, faint and unheard; her tribute, while she stood there before speaking, to realities looming72 through the golden mist that had already begun to be scattered73. The conditions facing her had yielded, for the time, to the golden mist — had considerably74 melted away; but there they were again, definite, and it was for the next quarter of an hour as if she could have counted them one by one on her fingers. Sharp to her above all was the renewed attestation75 of her father’s comprehensive acceptances, which she had so long regarded as of the same quality with her own, but which, so distinctly now, she should have the complication of being obliged to deal with separately. They had not yet struck her as absolutely extraordinary — which had made for her lumping them with her own, since her view of her own had but so lately begun to change; though it instantly stood out for her that there was really no new judgment of them she should be able to show without attracting in some degree his attention, without perhaps exciting his surprise and making thereby76, for the situation she shared with him, some difference. She was reminded and warned by the concrete image; and for a minute Charlotte’s face, immediately presented to her, affected77 her as searching her own to see the reminder78 tell. She had not less promptly kissed her stepmother, and then had bent79 over her father, from behind, and laid her cheek upon him; little amenities80 tantamount heretofore to an easy change of guard — Charlotte’s own frequent, though always cheerful, term of comparison for this process of transfer. Maggie figured thus as the relieving sentry81, and so smoothly did use and custom work for them that her mate might even, on this occasion, after acceptance of the pass-word, have departed without irrelevant82 and, in strictness, unsoldierly gossip. This was not, none the less, what happened; inasmuch as if our young woman had been floated over her first impulse to break the existing charm at a stroke, it yet took her but an instant to sound, at any risk, the note she had been privately83 practising. If she had practised it the day before, at dinner, on Amerigo, she knew but the better how to begin for it with Mrs. Verver, and it immensely helped her, for that matter, to be able at once to speak of the Prince as having done more to quicken than to soothe84 her curiosity. Frankly and gaily85 she had come to ask — to ask what, in their unusually prolonged campaign, the two had achieved. She had got out of her husband, she admitted, what she could, but husbands were never the persons who answered such questions ideally. He had only made her more curious, and she had arrived early, this way, in order to miss as little as possible of Charlotte’s story.
“Wives, papa,” she said; “are always much better reporters — though I grant,” she added for Charlotte, “that fathers are not much better than husbands. He never,” she smiled, “tells me more than a tenth of what you tell him; so I hope you haven’t told him everything yet, since in that case I shall probably have lost the best part of it.” Maggie went, she went — she felt herself going; she reminded herself of an actress who had been studying a part and rehearsing it, but who suddenly, on the stage, before the footlights, had begun to improvise86, to speak lines not in the text. It was this very sense of the stage and the footlights that kept her up, made her rise higher: just as it was the sense of action that logically involved some platform — action quite positively for the first time in her life, or, counting in the previous afternoon, for the second. The platform remained for three or four days thus sensibly under her feet, and she had all the while, with it, the inspiration of quite remarkably87, of quite heroically improvising88. Preparation and practice had come but a short way; her part opened out, and she invented from moment to moment what to say and to do. She had but one rule of art — to keep within bounds and not lose her head; certainly she might see for a week how far that would take her. She said to herself, in her excitement, that it was perfectly89 simple: to bring about a difference, touch by touch, without letting either of the three, and least of all her father, so much as suspect her hand. If they should suspect they would want a reason, and the humiliating truth was that she wasn’t ready with a reason — not, that is, with what she would have called a reasonable one. She thought of herself, instinctively, beautifully, as having dealt, all her life, at her father’s side and by his example, only in reasonable reasons; and what she would really have been most ashamed of would be to produce for HIM, in this line, some inferior substitute. Unless she were in a position to plead, definitely, that she was jealous she should be in no position to plead, decently, that she was dissatisfied. This latter condition would be a necessary implication of the former; without the former behind it it would HAVE to fall to the ground. So had the case, wonderfully, been arranged for her; there was a card she could play, but there was only one, and to play it would be to end the game. She felt herself — as at the small square green table, between the tall old silver candlesticks and the neatly90 arranged counters — her father’s playmate and partner; and what it constantly came back to, in her mind, was that for her to ask a question, to raise a doubt, to reflect in any degree on the play of the others, would be to break the charm. The charm she had to call it, since it kept her companion so constantly engaged, so perpetually seated and so contentedly91 occupied. To say anything at all would be, in fine, to have to say WHY she was jealous; and she could, in her private hours, but stare long, with suffused92 eyes, at that impossibility.
By the end of a week, the week that had begun, especially, with her morning hour, in Eaton Square, between her father and his wife, her consciousness of being beautifully treated had become again verily greater than her consciousness of anything else; and I must add, moreover, that she at last found herself rather oddly wondering what else, as a consciousness, could have been quite so overwhelming. Charlotte’s response to the experiment of being more with her OUGHT, as she very well knew, to have stamped the experiment with the feeling of success; so that if the success itself seemed a boon93 less substantial than the original image of it, it enjoyed thereby a certain analogy with our young woman’s aftertaste of Amerigo’s own determined94 demonstrations95. Maggie was to have retained, for that matter, more than one aftertaste, and if I have spoken of the impressions fixed in her as soon as she had, so insidiously96, taken the field, a definite note must be made of her perception, during those moments, of Charlotte’s prompt uncertainty97. She had shown, no doubt — she couldn’t not have shown — that she had arrived with an idea; quite exactly as she had shown her husband, the night before, that she was awaiting him with a sentiment. This analogy in the two situations was to keep up for her the remembrance of a kinship of expression in the two faces in respect to which all she as yet professed98 to herself was that she had affected them, or at any rate the sensibility each of them so admirably covered, in the same way. To make the comparison at all was, for Maggie, to return to it often, to brood upon it, to extract from it the last dregs of its interest — to play with it, in short, nervously99, vaguely100, incessantly101, as she might have played with a medallion containing on either side a cherished little portrait and suspended round her neck by a gold chain of a firm fineness that no effort would ever snap. The miniatures were back to back, but she saw them forever face to face, and when she looked from one to the other she found in Charlotte’s eyes the gleam of the momentary102 “What does she really want?” that had come and gone for her in the Prince’s. So again, she saw the other light, the light touched into a glow both in Portland Place and in Eaton Square, as soon as she had betrayed that she wanted no harm — wanted no greater harm of Charlotte, that is, than to take in that she meant to go out with her. She had been present at that process as personally as she might have been present at some other domestic incident — the hanging of a new picture, say, or the fitting of the Principino with his first little trousers.
She remained present, accordingly, all the week, so charmingly and systematically103 did Mrs. Verver now welcome her company. Charlotte had but wanted the hint, and what was it but the hint, after all, that, during the so subdued104 but so ineffaceable passage in the breakfast-room, she had seen her take? It had been taken moreover not with resignation, not with qualifications or reserves, however bland105; it had been taken with avidity, with gratitude106, with a grace of gentleness that supplanted107 explanations. The very liberality of this accommodation might indeed have appeared in the event to give its own account of the matter — as if it had fairly written the Princess down as a person of variations and had accordingly conformed but to a rule of tact108 in accepting these caprices for law. The caprice actually prevailing109 happened to be that the advent of one of the ladies anywhere should, till the fit had changed, become the sign, unfailingly, of the advent of the other; and it was emblazoned, in rich colour, on the bright face of this period, that Mrs. Verver only wished to know, on any occasion, what was expected of her, only held herself there for instructions, in order even to better them if possible. The two young women, while the passage lasted, became again very much the companions of other days, the days of Charlotte’s prolonged visits to the admiring and bountiful Maggie, the days when equality of condition for them had been all the result of the latter’s native vagueness about her own advantages. The earlier elements flushed into life again, the frequency, the intimacy, the high pitch of accompanying expression — appreciation110, endearment111, confidence; the rarer charm produced in each by this active contribution to the felicity of the other: all enhanced, furthermore — enhanced or qualified112, who should say which?— by a new note of diplomacy113, almost of anxiety, just sensible on Charlotte’s part in particular; of intensity of observance, in the matter of appeal and response, in the matter of making sure the Princess might be disposed or gratified, that resembled an attempt to play again, with more refinement114, at disparity of relation. Charlotte’s attitude had, in short, its moments of flowering into pretty excesses of civility, self-effacements in the presence of others, sudden little formalisms of suggestion and recognition, that might have represented her sense of the duty of not “losing sight” of a social distinction. This impression came out most for Maggie when, in their easier intervals115, they had only themselves to regard, and when her companion’s inveteracy117 of never passing first, of not sitting till she was seated, of not interrupting till she appeared to give leave, of not forgetting, too, familiarly, that in addition to being important she was also sensitive, had the effect of throwing over their intercourse118 a kind of silver tissue of decorum. It hung there above them like a canopy119 of state, a reminder that though the lady-inwaiting was an established favourite, safe in her position, a little queen, however, good-natured, was always a little queen and might, with small warning, remember it.
And yet another of these concomitants of feverish120 success, all the while, was the perception that in another quarter too things were being made easy. Charlotte’s alacrity121 in meeting her had, in one sense, operated slightly overmuch as an intervention122: it had begun to reabsorb her at the very hour of her husband’s showing her that, to be all there, as the phrase was, he likewise only required — as one of the other phrases was too — the straight tip. She had heard him talk about the straight tip, in his moods of amusement at English slang, in his remarkable123 displays of assimilative power, power worthy124 of better causes and higher inspirations; and he had taken it from her, at need, in a way that, certainly in the first glow of relief, had made her brief interval116 seem large. Then, however, immediately, and even though superficially, there had declared itself a readjustment of relations to which she was, once more, practically a little sacrificed. “I must do everything,” she had said, “without letting papa see what I do — at least till it’s done!” but she scarce knew how she proposed, even for the next few days, to blind or beguile46 this participant in her life. What had in fact promptly enough happened, she presently recognised, was that if her stepmother had beautifully taken possession of her, and if she had virtually been rather snatched again thereby from her husband’s side, so, on the other hand, this had, with as little delay, entailed125 some very charming assistance for her in Eaton Square. When she went home with Charlotte, from whatever happy demonstration, for the benefit of the world in which they supposed themselves to live, that there was no smallest reason why their closer association shouldn’t be public and acclaimed126 — at these times she regularly found that Amerigo had come either to sit with his father-inlaw in the absence of the ladies, or to make, on his side, precisely127 some such display of the easy working of the family life as would represent the equivalent of her excursions with Charlotte. Under this particular impression it was that everything in Maggie most melted and went to pieces — every thing, that is, that belonged to her disposition128 to challenge the perfection of their common state. It divided them again, that was true, this particular turn of the tide — cut them up afresh into pairs and parties; quite as if a sense for the equilibrium was what, between them all, had most power of insistence129; quite as if Amerigo himself were all the while, at bottom, equally thinking of it and watching it. But, as against that, he was making her father not miss her, and he could have rendered neither of them a more excellent service. He was acting in short on a cue, the cue given him by observation; it had been enough for him to see the shade of change in her behaviour; his instinct for relations, the most exquisite conceivable, prompted him immediately to meet and match the difference, to play somehow into its hands. That was what it was, she renewedly felt, to have married a man who was, sublimely130, a gentleman; so that, in spite of her not wanting to translate ALL their delicacies131 into the grossness of discussion, she yet found again and again, in Portland Place, moments for saying: “If I didn’t love you, you know, for yourself, I should still love you for HIM.” He looked at her, after such speeches, as Charlotte looked, in Eaton Square, when she called HER attention to his benevolence132: through the dimness of the almost musing133 smile that took account of her extravagance, harmless though it might be, as a tendency to reckon with. “But my poor child,” Charlotte might under this pressure have been on the point of replying, “that’s the way nice people ARE, all round — so that why should one be surprised about it? We’re all nice together — as why shouldn’t we be? If we hadn’t been we wouldn’t have gone far — and I consider that we’ve gone very far indeed. Why should you ‘take on’ as if you weren’t a perfect dear yourself, capable of all the sweetest things?— as if you hadn’t in fact grown up in an atmosphere, the atmosphere of all the good things that I recognised, even of old, as soon as I came near you, and that you’ve allowed me now, between you, to make so blessedly my own.” Mrs. Verver might in fact have but just failed to make another point, a point charmingly natural to her as a grateful and irreproachable134 wife. “It isn’t a bit wonderful, I may also remind you, that your husband should find, when opportunity permits, worse things to do than to go about with mine. I happen, love, to appreciate my husband — I happen perfectly to understand that his acquaintance should be cultivated and his company enjoyed.”
Some such happily-provoked remarks as these, from Charlotte, at the other house, had been in the air, but we have seen how there was also in the air, for our young woman, as an emanation from the same source, a distilled135 difference of which the very principle was to keep down objections and retorts. That impression came back — it had its hours of doing so; and it may interest us on the ground of its having prompted in Maggie a final reflection, a reflection out of the heart of which a light flashed for her like a great flower grown in a night. As soon as this light had spread a little it produced in some quarters a surprising distinctness, made her of a sudden ask herself why there should have been even for three days the least obscurity. The perfection of her success, decidedly, was like some strange shore to which she had been noiselessly ferried and where, with a start, she found herself quaking at the thought that the boat might have put off again and left her. The word for it, the word that flashed the light, was that they were TREATING her, that they were proceeding136 with her — and, for that matter, with her father — by a plan that was the exact counterpart of her own. It was not from her that they took their cue, but — and this was what in particular made her sit up — from each other; and with a depth of unanimity137, an exact coincidence of inspiration that, when once her attention had begun to fix it, struck her as staring out at her in recovered identities of behaviour, expression and tone. They had a view of her situation, and of the possible forms her own consciousness of it might take — a view determined by the change of attitude they had had, ever so subtly, to recognise in her on their return from Matcham. They had had to read into this small and all-but-suppressed variation a mute comment — on they didn’t quite know what; and it now arched over the Princess’s head like a vault138 of bold span that important communication between them on the subject couldn’t have failed of being immediate21. This new perception bristled139 for her, as we have said, with odd intimations, but questions unanswered played in and out of it as well — the question, for instance, of why such promptitude of harmony SHOULD have been important. Ah, when she began to recover, piece by piece, the process became lively; she might have been picking small shining diamonds out of the sweepings140 of her ordered house. She bent, in this pursuit, over her dust-bin; she challenged to the last grain the refuse of her innocent economy. Then it was that the dismissed vision of Amerigo, that evening, in arrest at the door of her salottino while her eyes, from her placed chair, took him in-then it was that this immense little memory gave out its full power. Since the question was of doors, she had afterwards, she now saw, shut it out; she had responsibly shut in, as we have understood, shut in there with her sentient141 self, only the fact of his reappearance and the plenitude of his presence. These things had been testimony142, after all, to supersede143 any other, for on the spot, even while she looked, the warmly-washing wave had travelled far up the strand144. She had subsequently lived, for hours she couldn’t count, under the dizzying, smothering145 welter positively in submarine depths where everything came to her through walls of emerald and mother-of-pearl; though indeed she had got her head above them, for breath, when face to face with Charlotte again, on the morrow, in Eaton Square. Meanwhile, none the less, as was so apparent, the prior, the prime impression had remained, in the manner of a spying servant, on the other side of the barred threshold; a witness availing himself, in time, of the lightest pretext146 to re-enter. It was as if he had found this pretext in her observed necessity of comparing — comparing the obvious common elements in her husband’s and her stepmother’s ways of now “taking” her. With or without her witness, at any rate, she was led by comparison to a sense of the quantity of earnest intention operating, and operating so harmoniously147, between her companions; and it was in the mitigated148 midnight of these approximations that she had made out the promise of her dawn.
It was a worked-out scheme for their not wounding her, for their behaving to her quite nobly; to which each had, in some winning way, induced the other to contribute, and which therefore, so far as that went, proved that she had become with them a subject of intimate study. Quickly, quickly, on a certain alarm taken, eagerly and anxiously, before they SHOULD, without knowing it, wound her, they had signalled from house to house their clever idea, the idea by which, for all these days, her own idea had been profiting. They had built her in with their purpose — which was why, above her, a vault seemed more heavily to arch; so that she sat there, in the solid chamber149 of her helplessness, as in a bath of benevolence artfully prepared for her, over the brim of which she could but just manage to see by stretching her neck. Baths of benevolence were very well, but, at least, unless one were a patient of some sort, a nervous eccentric or a lost child, one was usually not so immersed save by one’s request. It wasn’t in the least what she had requested. She had flapped her little wings as a symbol of desired flight, not merely as a plea for a more gilded150 cage and an extra allowance of lumps of sugar. Above all she hadn’t complained, not by the quaver of a syllable151 — so what wound in particular had she shown her fear of receiving? What wound HAD she received — as to which she had exchanged the least word with them? If she had ever whined152 or moped they might have had some reason; but she would be hanged — she conversed153 with herself in strong language — if she had been, from beginning to end, anything but pliable154 and mild. It all came back, in consequence, to some required process of their own, a process operating, quite positively, as a precaution and a policy. They had got her into the bath and, for consistency155 with themselves — which was with each other — must keep her there. In that condition she wouldn’t interfere156 with the policy, which was established, which was arranged. Her thought, over this, arrived at a great intensity — had indeed its pauses and timidities, but always to take afterwards a further and lighter157 spring. The ground was well-nigh covered by the time she had made out her husband and his colleague as directly interested in preventing her freedom of movement. Policy or no policy, it was they themselves who were arranged. She must be kept in position so as not to DISarrange them. It fitted immensely together, the whole thing, as soon as she could give them a motive158; for, strangely as it had by this time begun to appear to herself, she had hitherto not imagined them sustained by an ideal distinguishably different from her own. Of course they were arranged — all four arranged; but what had the basis of their life been, precisely, but that they were arranged together? Amerigo and Charlotte were arranged together, but she — to confine the matter only to herself — was arranged apart. It rushed over her, the full sense of all this, with quite another rush from that of the breaking wave of ten days before; and as her father himself seemed not to meet the vaguely-clutching hand with which, during the first shock of complete perception, she tried to steady herself, she felt very much alone.
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1
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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abjectly
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| 凄惨地； 绝望地； 糟透地； 悲惨地 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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fawns
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| n.（未满一岁的）幼鹿( fawn的名词复数 )；浅黄褐色；乞怜者；奉承者v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的第三人称单数 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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lumbered
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| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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complement
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| n.补足物，船上的定员；补语；vt.补充，补足 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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condonation
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| n.容忍，宽恕，原谅 | |
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beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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beguile
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| vt.欺骗，消遣 | |
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reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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discriminated
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| 分别，辨别，区分( discriminate的过去式和过去分词 )； 歧视，有差别地对待 | |
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54
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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legitimately
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| ad.合法地；正当地，合理地 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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59
overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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inevitability
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| n.必然性 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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68
abutted
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| v.（与…）邻接( abut的过去式和过去分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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71
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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72
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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74
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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75
attestation
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| n.证词 | |
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76
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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77
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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78
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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79
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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80
amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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81
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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82
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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83
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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84
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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85
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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86
improvise
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| v.即兴创作；临时准备，临时凑成 | |
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87
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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88
improvising
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| 即兴创作（improvise的现在分词形式） | |
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89
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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90
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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92
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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94
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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95
demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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96
insidiously
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| 潜在地，隐伏地，阴险地 | |
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97
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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98
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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99
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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100
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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101
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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102
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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103
systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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104
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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105
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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106
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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107
supplanted
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| 把…排挤掉，取代( supplant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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109
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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110
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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111
endearment
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| n.表示亲爱的行为 | |
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112
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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113
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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114
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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116
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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117
inveteracy
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| n.根深蒂固，积习 | |
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118
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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119
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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120
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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121
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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122
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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123
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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124
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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125
entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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126
acclaimed
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| adj.受人欢迎的 | |
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127
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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128
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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129
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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130
sublimely
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| 高尚地，卓越地 | |
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131
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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132
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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133
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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134
irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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135
distilled
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| adj.由蒸馏得来的v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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136
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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137
unanimity
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| n.全体一致，一致同意 | |
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138
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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139
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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140
sweepings
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| n.笼统的( sweeping的名词复数 )；（在投票等中的）大胜；影响广泛的；包罗万象的 | |
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141
sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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142
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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143
supersede
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| v.替代；充任 | |
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144
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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145
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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146
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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147
harmoniously
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| 和谐地，调和地 | |
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148
mitigated
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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150
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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151
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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152
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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153
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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154
pliable
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| adj.易受影响的；易弯的；柔顺的，易驾驭的 | |
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155
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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156
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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157
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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158
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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