The Portrait of a Lady — Volume 2. Генри Джеймс

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СКАЧАТЬ told me that if I heard you were engaged I was not to believe it,” Caspar went on. “I heard it twenty days ago from yourself, but I remembered what you had said. I thought there might be some mistake, and that’s partly why I came.”

      “If you wish me to repeat it by word of mouth, that’s soon done. There’s no mistake whatever.”

      “I saw that as soon as I came into the room.”

      “What good would it do you that I shouldn’t marry?” she asked with a certain fierceness.

      “I should like it better than this.”

      “You’re very selfish, as I said before.”

      “I know that. I’m selfish as iron.”

      “Even iron sometimes melts! If you’ll be reasonable I’ll see you again.”

      “Don’t you call me reasonable now?”

      “I don’t know what to say to you,” she answered with sudden humility.

      “I shan’t trouble you for a long time,” the young man went on. He made a step towards the door, but he stopped. “Another reason why I came was that I wanted to hear what you would say in explanation of your having changed your mind.”

      Her humbleness as suddenly deserted her. “In explanation? Do you think I’m bound to explain?”

      He gave her one of his long dumb looks. “You were very positive. I did believe it.”

      “So did I. Do you think I could explain if I would?”

      “No, I suppose not. Well,” he added, “I’ve done what I wished. I’ve seen you.”

      “How little you make of these terrible journeys,” she felt the poverty of her presently replying.

      “If you’re afraid I’m knocked up—in any such way as that—you may he at your ease about it.” He turned away, this time in earnest, and no hand-shake, no sign of parting, was exchanged between them.

      At the door he stopped with his hand on the knob. “I shall leave Florence to-morrow,” he said without a quaver.

      “I’m delighted to hear it!” she answered passionately. Five minutes after he had gone out she burst into tears.

      CHAPTER XXXIII

      Her fit of weeping, however, was soon smothered, and the signs of it had vanished when, an hour later, she broke the news to her aunt. I use this expression because she had been sure Mrs. Touchett would not be pleased; Isabel had only waited to tell her till she had seen Mr. Goodwood. She had an odd impression that it would not be honourable to make the fact public before she should have heard what Mr. Goodwood would say about it. He had said rather less than she expected, and she now had a somewhat angry sense of having lost time. But she would lose no more; she waited till Mrs. Touchett came into the drawing-room before the mid-day breakfast, and then she began. “Aunt Lydia, I’ve something to tell you.”

      Mrs. Touchett gave a little jump and looked at her almost fiercely. “You needn’t tell me; I know what it is.”

      “I don’t know how you know.”

      “The same way that I know when the window’s open—by feeling a draught. You’re going to marry that man.”

      “What man do you mean?” Isabel enquired with great dignity.

      “Madame Merle’s friend—Mr. Osmond.”

      “I don’t know why you call him Madame Merle’s friend. Is that the principal thing he’s known by?”

      “If he’s not her friend he ought to be—after what she has done for him!” cried Mrs. Touchett. “I shouldn’t have expected it of her; I’m disappointed.”

      “If you mean that Madame Merle has had anything to do with my engagement you’re greatly mistaken,” Isabel declared with a sort of ardent coldness.

      “You mean that your attractions were sufficient, without the gentleman’s having had to be lashed up? You’re quite right. They’re immense, your attractions, and he would never have presumed to think of you if she hadn’t put him up to it. He has a very good opinion of himself, but he was not a man to take trouble. Madame Merle took the trouble for him.”

      “He has taken a great deal for himself!” cried Isabel with a voluntary laugh.

      Mrs. Touchett gave a sharp nod. “I think he must, after all, to have made you like him so much.”

      “I thought he even pleased you.”

      “He did, at one time; and that’s why I’m angry with him.”

      “Be angry with me, not with him,” said the girl.

      “Oh, I’m always angry with you; that’s no satisfaction! Was it for this that you refused Lord Warburton?”

      “Please don’t go back to that. Why shouldn’t I like Mr. Osmond, since others have done so?”

      “Others, at their wildest moments, never wanted to marry him. There’s nothing of him,” Mrs. Touchett explained.

      “Then he can’t hurt me,” said Isabel.

      “Do you think you’re going to be happy? No one’s happy, in such doings, you should know.”

      “I shall set the fashion then. What does one marry for?”

      “What you will marry for, heaven only knows. People usually marry as they go into partnership—to set up a house. But in your partnership you’ll bring everything.”

      “Is it that Mr. Osmond isn’t rich? Is that what you’re talking about?” Isabel asked.

      “He has no money; he has no name; he has no importance. I value such things and I have the courage to say it; I think they’re very precious. Many other people think the same, and they show it. But they give some other reason.”

      Isabel hesitated a little. “I think I value everything that’s valuable. I care very much for money, and that’s why I wish Mr. Osmond to have a little.”

      “Give it to him then; but marry some one else.”

      “His name’s good enough for me,” the girl went on. “It’s a very pretty name. Have I such a fine one myself?”

      “All the more reason you should improve on it. There are only a dozen American names. Do you marry him out of charity?”

      “It was my duty to tell you, Aunt Lydia, but I don’t think it’s my duty to explain to you. Even if it were I shouldn’t be able. So please don’t remonstrate; in talking about it you have me at a disadvantage. I can’t talk about it.”

      “I don’t remonstrate, I simply СКАЧАТЬ