CHAPTER VII
The two amused themselves, time and again, with talking of the attitudeof the British public as if the young lady had been in a position toappeal to it; but in fact the British public remained for the presentprofoundly indifferent to Miss Isabel Archer, whose fortune had droppedher, as her cousin said, into the dullest house in England. Her goutyuncle received very little company, and Mrs. Touchett, not havingcultivated relations with her husband's neighbours, was not warrantedin expecting visits from them. She had, however, a peculiar taste; sheliked to receive cards. For what is usually called social intercourseshe had very little relish; but nothing pleased her more than to findher hall-table whitened with oblong morsels of symbolic pasteboard. Sheflattered herself that she was a very just woman, and had mastered thesovereign truth that nothing in this world is got for nothing. She hadplayed no social part as mistress of Gardencourt, and it was not to besupposed that, in the surrounding country, a minute account should bekept of her comings and goings. But it is by no means certain that shedid not feel it to be wrong that so little notice was taken of them andthat her failure (really very gratuitous) to make herself important inthe neighbourhood had not much to do with the acrimony of her allusionsto her husband's adopted country. Isabel presently found herself in thesingular situation of defending the British constitution against heraunt; Mrs. Touchett having formed the habit of sticking pins into thisvenerable instrument. Isabel always felt an impulse to pull out thepins; not that she imagined they inflicted any damage on the tough oldparchment, but because it seemed to her her aunt might make better useof her sharpness. She was very critical herself--it was incidental toher age, her sex and her nationality; but she was very sentimental aswell, and there was something in Mrs. Touchett's dryness that set herown moral fountains flowing.
”Now what's your point of view?” she asked of her aunt. ”When youcriticise everything here you should have a point of view. Yours doesn'tseem to be American--you thought everything over there so disagreeable.When I criticise I have mine; it's thoroughly American!”
”My dear young lady,” said Mrs. Touchett, ”there are as many points ofview in the world as there are people of sense to take them. You maysay that doesn't make them very numerous! American? Never in the world;that's shockingly narrow. My point of view, thank God, is personal!”
Isabel thought this a better answer than she admitted; it was atolerable description of her own manner of judging, but it would nothave sounded well for her to say so. On the lips of a person lessadvanced in life and less enlightened by experience than Mrs. Touchettsuch a declaration would savour of immodesty, even of arrogance. Sherisked it nevertheless in talking with Ralph, with whom she talked agreat deal and with whom her conversation was of a sort that gave alarge licence to extravagance. Her cousin used, as the phrase is, tochaff her; he very soon established with her a reputation for treatingeverything as a joke, and he was not a man to neglect the privilegessuch a reputation conferred. She accused him of an odious want ofseriousness, of laughing at all things, beginning with himself. Suchslender faculty of reverence as he possessed centred wholly upon hisfather; for the rest, he exercised his wit indifferently upon hisfather's son, this gentleman's weak lungs, his useless life, hisfantastic mother, his friends (Lord Warburton in especial), his adopted,and his native country, his charming new-found cousin. ”I keep a bandof music in my ante-room,” he said once to her. ”It has orders to playwithout stopping; it renders me two excellent services. It keeps thesounds of the world from reaching the private apartments, and it makesthe world think that dancing's going on within.” It was dance-musicindeed that you usually heard when you came within ear-shot of Ralph'sband; the liveliest waltzes seemed to float upon the air. Isabel oftenfound herself irritated by this perpetual fiddling; she would have likedto pass through the ante-room, as her cousin called it, and enter theprivate apartments. It mattered little that he had assured her they werea very dismal place; she would have been glad to undertake to sweep themand set them in order. It was but half-hospitality to let her remainoutside; to punish him for which Isabel administered innumerable tapswith the ferule of her straight young wit. It must be said that her witwas exercised to a large extent in self-defence, for her cousin amusedhimself with calling her ”Columbia” and accusing her of a patriotism soheated that it scorched. He drew a caricature of her in which she wasrepresented as a very pretty young woman dressed, on the lines of theprevailing fashion, in the folds of the national banner. Isabel's chiefdread in life at this period of her development was that she shouldappear narrow-minded; what she feared next afterwards was that sheshould really be so. But she nevertheless made no scruple of aboundingin her cousin's sense and pretending to sigh for the charms of hernative land. She would be as American as it pleased him to regard her,and if he chose to laugh at her she would give him plenty of occupation.She defended England against his mother, but when Ralph sang its praiseson purpose, as she said, to work her up, she found herself able todiffer from him on a variety of points. In fact, the quality of thissmall ripe country seemed as sweet to her as the taste of an Octoberpear; and her satisfaction was at the root of the good spirits whichenabled her to take her cousin's chaff and return it in kind. If hergood-humour flagged at moments it was not because she thought herselfill-used, but because she suddenly felt sorry for Ralph. It seemed toher he was talking as a blind and had little heart in what he said. ”Idon't know what's the matter with you,” she observed to him once; ”but Isuspect you're a great humbug.”
”That's your privilege,” Ralph answered, who had not been used to beingso crudely addressed.
”I don't know what you care for; I don't think you care for anything.You don't really care for England when you praise it; you don't care forAmerica even when you pretend to abuse it.”
”I care for nothing but you, dear cousin,” said Ralph.
”If I could believe even that, I should be very glad.”
”Ah well, I should hope so!” the young man exclaimed.
Isabel might have believed it and not have been far from the truth. Hethought a great deal about her; she was constantly present to his mind.At a time when his thoughts had been a good deal of a burden to him hersudden arrival, which promised nothing and was an open-handed gift offate, had refreshed and quickened them, given them wings and somethingto fly for. Poor Ralph had been for many weeks steeped in melancholy;his outlook, habitually sombre, lay under the shadow of a deeper cloud.He had grown anxious about his father, whose gout, hitherto confined tohis legs, had begun to ascend into regions more vital. The old man hadbeen gravely ill in the spring, and the doctors had whispered toRalph that another attack would be less easy to deal with. Just nowhe appeared disburdened of pain, but Ralph could not rid himself of asuspicion that this was a subterfuge of the enemy, who was waiting totake him off his guard. If the manoeuvre should succeed there would belittle hope of any great resistance. Ralph had always taken for grantedthat his father would survive him--that his own name would be the firstgrimly called. The father and son had been close companions, and theidea of being left alone with the remnant of a tasteless life on hishands was not gratifying to the young man, who had always and tacitlycounted upon his elder's help in making the best of a poor business.At the prospect of losing his great motive Ralph lost indeed his oneinspiration. If they might die at the same time it would be all verywell; but without the encouragement of his father's society he shouldbarely have patience to await his own turn. He had not the incentive offeeling that he was indispensable to his mother; it was a rule with hismother to have no regrets. He bethought himself of course that it hadbeen a small kindness to his father to wish that, of the two, the activerather than the passive party should know the felt wound; he rememberedthat the old man had always treated his own forecast of an early end asa clever fallacy, which he should be delighted to discredit so far ashe might by dying first. But of the two triumphs, that of refuting asophistical son and that of holding on a while longer to a state ofbeing which, with all abatements, he enjoyed, Ralph deemed it no sin tohope the latter might be vouchsafed to Mr. Touchett.
These were nice questions, but Isabel's arrival put a stop to hispuzzling over them. It even suggested there might be a compensation forthe intolerable ennui of surviving his genial sire. He wondered whetherhe were harbouring ”love” for this spontaneous young woman from Albany;but he judged that on the whole he was not. After he had known her fora week he quite made up his mind to this, and every day he felt a littlemore sure. Lord Warburton had been right about her; she was a reallyinteresting little figure. Ralph wondered how their neighbour hadfound it out so soon and then he said it was only another proof of hisfriend's high abilities, which he had always greatly admired. If hiscousin were to be nothing more than an entertainment to him, Ralph wasconscious she was an entertainment of a high order. ”A character likethat,” he said to himself--”a real little passionate force to see atplay is the finest thing in nature. It's finer than the finest workof art--than a Greek bas-relief, than a great Titian, than a Gothiccathedral. It's very pleasant to be so well treated where one had leastlooked for it. I had never been more blue, more bored, than for a weekbefore she came; I had never expected less that anything pleasant wouldhappen. Suddenly I receive a Titian, by the post, to hang on my wall--aGreek bas-relief to stick over my chimney-piece. The key of a beautifuledifice is thrust into my hand, and I'm told to walk in and admire. Mypoor boy, you've been sadly ungrateful, and now you had better keep veryquiet and never grumble again.” The sentiment of these reflexions wasvery just; but it was not exactly true that Ralph Touchett had had a keyput into his hand. His cousin was a very brilliant girl, who would take,as he said, a good deal of knowing; but she needed the knowing, and hisattitude with regard to her, though it was contemplative and critical,was not judicial. He surveyed the edifice from the outside and admiredit greatly; he looked in at the windows and received an impression ofproportions equally fair. But he felt that he saw it only by glimpsesand that he had not yet stood under the roof. The door was fastened, andthough he had keys in his pocket he had a conviction that none of themwould fit. She was intelligent and generous; it was a fine free nature;but what was she going to do with herself? This question was irregular,for with most women one had no occasion to ask it. Most women didwith themselves nothing at all; they waited, in attitudes more or lessgracefully passive, for a man to come that way and furnish them witha destiny. Isabel's originality was that she gave one an impression ofhaving intentions of her own. ”Whenever she executes them,” said Ralph,”may I be there to see!”
It devolved upon him of course to do the honours of the place. Mr.Touchett was confined to his chair, and his wife's position was that ofrather a grim visitor; so that in the line of conduct that opened itselfto Ralph duty and inclination were harmoniously mixed. He was not agreat walker, but he strolled about the grounds with his cousin--apastime for which the weather remained favourable with a persistency notallowed for in Isabel's somewhat lugubrious prevision of the climate;and in the long afternoons, of which the length was but the measure ofher gratified eagerness, they took a boat on the river, the dear littleriver, as Isabel called it, where the opposite shore seemed still apart of the foreground of the landscape; or drove over the country in aphaeton--a low, capacious, thick-wheeled phaeton formerly much used byMr. Touchett, but which he had now ceased to enjoy. Isabel enjoyed itlargely and, handling the reins in a manner which approved itself tothe groom as ”knowing,” was never weary of driving her uncle's capitalhorses through winding lanes and byways full of the rural incidents shehad confidently expected to find; past cottages thatched and timbered,past ale-houses latticed and sanded, past patches of ancient common andglimpses of empty parks, between hedgerows made thick by midsummer. Whenthey reached home they usually found tea had been served on the lawnand that Mrs. Touchett had not shrunk from the extremity of handing herhusband his cup. But the two for the most part sat silent; the oldman with his head back and his eyes closed, his wife occupied with herknitting and wearing that appearance of rare profundity with which someladies consider the movement of their needles.
One day, however, a visitor had arrived. The two young persons, afterspending an hour on the river, strolled back to the house and perceivedLord Warburton sitting under the trees and engaged in conversation, ofwhich even at a distance the desultory character was appreciable, withMrs. Touchett. He had driven over from his own place with a portmanteauand had asked, as the father and son often invited him to do, for adinner and a lodging. Isabel, seeing him for half an hour on the day ofher arrival, had discovered in this brief space that she liked him; hehad indeed rather sharply registered himself on her fine sense andshe had thought of him several times. She had hoped she should see himagain--hoped too that she should see a few others. Gardencourt was notdull; the place itself was sovereign, her uncle was more and more asort of golden grandfather, and Ralph was unlike any cousin she hadever encountered--her idea of cousins having tended to gloom. Then herimpressions were still so fresh and so quickly renewed that there was asyet hardly a hint of vacancy in the view. But Isabel had need to remindherself that she was interested in human nature and that her foremosthope in coming abroad had been that she should see a great many people.When Ralph said to her, as he had done several times, ”I wonder you findthis endurable; you ought to see some of the neighbours and some ofour friends, because we have really got a few, though you would neversuppose it”--when he offered to invite what he called a ”lot of people”and make her acquainted with English society, she encouraged thehospitable impulse and promised in advance to hurl herself into thefray. Little, however, for the present, had come of his offers, and itmay be confided to the reader that if the young man delayed to carrythem out it was because he found the labour of providing for hiscompanion by no means so severe as to require extraneous help. Isabelhad spoken to him very often about ”specimens;” it was a word thatplayed a considerable part in her vocabulary; she had given him tounderstand that she wished to see English society illustrated by eminentcases.
”Well now, there's a specimen,” he said to her as they walked up fromthe riverside and he recognised Lord Warburton.
”A specimen of what?” asked the girl.
”A specimen of an English gentleman.”
”Do you mean they're all like him?”
”Oh no; they're not all like him.”
”He's a favourable specimen then,” said Isabel; ”because I'm sure he'snice.”
”Yes, he's very nice. And he's very fortunate.”
The fortunate Lord Warburton exchanged a handshake with our heroineand hoped she was very well. ”But I needn't ask that,” he said, ”sinceyou've been handling the oars.”
”I've been rowing a little,” Isabel answered; ”but how should you knowit?”
”Oh, I know he doesn't row; he's too lazy,” said his lordship,indicating Ralph Touchett with a laugh.
”He has a good excuse for his laziness,” Isabel rejoined, lowering hervoice a little.
”Ah, he has a good excuse for everything!” cried Lord Warburton, stillwith his sonorous mirth.
”My excuse for not rowing is that my cousin rows so well,” said Ralph.”She does everything well. She touches nothing that she doesn't adorn!”
”It makes one want to be touched, Miss Archer,” Lord Warburton declared.
”Be touched in the right sense and you'll never look the worse forit,” said Isabel, who, if it pleased her to hear it said that heraccomplishments were numerous, was happily able to reflect that suchcomplacency was not the indication of a feeble mind, inasmuch as therewere several things in which she excelled. Her desire to think well ofherself had at least the element of humility that it always needed to besupported by proof.
Lord Warburton not only spent the night at Gardencourt, but he waspersuaded to remain over the second day; and when the second day wasended he determined to postpone his departure till the morrow. Duringthis period he addressed many of his remarks to Isabel, who acceptedthis evidence of his esteem with a very good grace. She found herselfliking him extremely; the first impression he had made on her had hadweight, but at the end of an evening spent in his society she scarcefell short of seeing him--though quite without luridity--as a heroof romance. She retired to rest with a sense of good fortune, with aquickened consciousness of possible felicities. ”It's very nice to knowtwo such charming people as those,” she said, meaning by ”those” hercousin and her cousin's friend. It must be added moreover that anincident had occurred which might have seemed to put her good-humour tothe test. Mr. Touchett went to bed at half-past nine o'clock, but hiswife remained in the drawing-room with the other members of the party.She prolonged her vigil for something less than an hour, and then,rising, observed to Isabel that it was time they should bid thegentlemen good-night. Isabel had as yet no desire to go to bed; theoccasion wore, to her sense, a festive character, and feasts were notin the habit of terminating so early. So, without further thought, shereplied, very simply--
”Need I go, dear aunt? I'll come up in half an hour.”
”It's impossible I should wait for you,” Mrs. Touchett answered.
”Ah, you needn't wait! Ralph will light my candle,” Isabel gailyengaged.
”I'll light your candle; do let me light your candle, Miss Archer!” LordWarburton exclaimed. ”Only I beg it shall not be before midnight.”
Mrs. Touchett fixed her bright little eyes upon him a moment andtransferred them coldly to her niece. ”You can't stay alone with thegentlemen. You're not--you're not at your blest Albany, my dear.”
Isabel rose, blushing. ”I wish I were,” she said.
”Oh, I say, mother!” Ralph broke out.
”My dear Mrs. Touchett!” Lord Warburton murmured.
”I didn't make your country, my lord,” Mrs. Touchett said majestically.”I must take it as I find it.”
”Can't I stay with my own cousin?” Isabel enquired.
”I'm not aware that Lord Warburton is your cousin.”
”Perhaps I had better go to bed!” the visitor suggested. ”That willarrange it.”
Mrs. Touchett gave a little look of despair and sat down again. ”Oh, ifit's necessary I'll stay up till midnight.”
Ralph meanwhile handed Isabel her candlestick. He had been watching her;it had seemed to him her temper was involved--an accident that mightbe interesting. But if he had expected anything of a flare he wasdisappointed, for the girl simply laughed a little, nodded good-nightand withdrew accompanied by her aunt. For himself he was annoyed at hismother, though he thought she was right. Above-stairs the two ladiesseparated at Mrs. Touchett's door. Isabel had said nothing on her wayup.
”Of course you're vexed at my interfering with you,” said Mrs. Touchett.
Isabel considered. ”I'm not vexed, but I'm surprised--and a good dealmystified. Wasn't it proper I should remain in the drawing-room?”
”Not in the least. Young girls here--in decent houses--don't sit alonewith the gentlemen late at night.”
”You were very right to tell me then,” said Isabel. ”I don't understandit, but I'm very glad to know it.
”I shall always tell you,” her aunt answered, ”whenever I see you takingwhat seems to me too much liberty.”
”Pray do; but I don't say I shall always think your remonstrance just.”
”Very likely not. You're too fond of your own ways.”
”Yes, I think I'm very fond of them. But I always want to know thethings one shouldn't do.”
”So as to do them?” asked her aunt.
”So as to choose,” said Isabel.