He was mine a moment ago; but youve suddenly acquired a remarkable air of property in him.
Couldnt we share him? asked the girl. Hes such a perfect little darling.
Ralph looked at her a moment; she was unexpectedly pretty. You may have him altogether, he then replied.
The young lady seemed to have a great deal of confidence, both in herself and in others; but this abrupt generosity made her blush. I ought to tell you that Im probably your cousin, she brought out, putting down the dog. And heres another! she added quickly, as the collie came up.
Probably? the young man exclaimed, laughing. I supposed it was quite settled! Have you arrived with my mother?
Yes, half an hour ago.
And has she deposited you and departed again?
No, she went straight to her room, and she told me that, if I should see you, I was to say to you that you must come to her there at a quarter to seven.
The young man looked at his watch. Thank you very much; I shall be punctual. And then he looked at his cousin. Youre very welcome here. Im delighted to see you.
She was looking at everything, with an eye that denoted clear perceptionat her companion, at the two dogs, at the two gentlemen under the trees, at the beautiful scene that surrounded her. Ive never seen anything so lovely as this place. Ive been all over the house; its too enchanting.
Im sorry you should have been here so long without our knowing it.
Your mother told me that in England people arrived very quietly; so I thought it was all right. Is one of those gentlemen your father?
Yes, the elder onethe one sitting down, said Ralph.
The girl gave a laugh. I dont suppose its the other. Whos the other?
Hes a friend of oursLord Warburton.
Oh, I hoped there would be a lord; its just like a novel! And then, Oh you adorable creature! she suddenly cried, stooping down and picking up the small dog again.
She remained standing where they had met, making no offer to advance or to speak to Mr. Touchett, and while she lingered so near the threshold, slim and charming, her interlocutor wondered if she expected the old man to come and pay her his respects. American girls were used to a great deal of deference, and it had been intimated that this one had a high spirit. Indeed Ralph could see that in her face.
Wont you come and make acquaintance with my father? he nevertheless ventured to ask. Hes old and infirmhe doesnt leave his chair.
Ah, poor man, Im very sorry! the girl exclaimed, immediately moving forward. I got the impression from your mother that he was rather intensely active.
Ralph Touchett was silent a moment. She hasnt seen him for a year.
Well, he has a lovely place to sit. Come along, little hound.
Its a dear old place, said the young man, looking sidewise at his neighbour.
Whats his name? she asked, her attention having again reverted to the terrier.
My fathers name?
Yes, said the young lady with amusement; but dont tell him I asked you.
They had come by this time to where old Mr. Touchett was sitting, and he slowly got up from his chair to introduce himself.
My mother has arrived, said Ralph, and this is Miss Archer.
The old man placed his two hands on her shoulders, looked at her a moment with extreme benevolence and then gallantly kissed her. Its a great pleasure to me to see you here; but I wish you had given us a chance to receive you.
Oh, we were received, said the girl. There were about a dozen servants in the hall. And there was an old woman curtseying at the gate.
We can do better than thatif we have notice! And the old man stood there smiling, rubbing his hands and slowly shaking his head at her. But Mrs. Touchett doesnt like receptions.
She went straight to her room.
Yesand locked herself in. She always does that. Well, I suppose I shall see her next week. And Mrs. Touchetts husband slowly resumed his former posture.
Before that, said Miss Archer. Shes coming down to dinnerat eight oclock. Dont you forget a quarter to seven, she added, turning with a smile to Ralph.
Whats to happen at a quarter to seven?
Im to see my mother, said Ralph.
Ah, happy boy! the old man commented. You must sit downyou must have some tea, he observed to his wifes niece.
They gave me some tea in my room the moment I got there, this young lady answered. Im sorry youre out of health, she added, resting her eyes upon her venerable host.
Oh, Im an old man, my dear; its time for me to be old. But I shall be the better for having you here.
She had been looking all round her againat the lawn, the great trees, the reedy, silvery Thames, the beautiful old house; and while engaged in this survey she had made room in it for her companions; a comprehensiveness of observation easily conceivable on the part of a young woman who was evidently both intelligent and excited. She had seated herself and had put away the little dog; her white hands, in her lap, were folded upon her black dress; her head was erect, her eye lighted, her flexible figure turned itself easily this way and that, in sympathy with the alertness with which she evidently caught impressions. Her impressions were numerous, and they were all reflected in a clear, still smile. Ive never seen anything so beautiful as this.
Its looking very well, said Mr. Touchett. I know the way it strikes you. Ive been through all that. But youre very beautiful yourself, he added with a politeness by no means crudely jocular and with the happy consciousness that his advanced age gave him the privilege of saying such thingseven to young persons who might possibly take alarm at them.
What degree of alarm this young person took need not be exactly measured; she instantly rose, however, with a blush which was not a refutation. Oh yes, of course Im lovely! she returned with a quick laugh. How old is your house? Is it Elizabethan?
Its early Tudor, said Ralph Touchett.
She turned toward him, watching his face. Early Tudor? How very delightful! And I suppose there are a great many others.
There are many much better ones.
Dont say that, my son! the old man protested. Theres nothing better than this.
Ive got a very good one; I think in some respects its rather better, said Lord Warburton, who as yet had not spoken, but who had kept an attentive eye upon Miss Archer. He slightly inclined himself, smiling; he had an excellent manner with women. The girl appreciated it in an instant; she had not forgotten that this was Lord Warburton. I should like very much to show it to you, he added.
Dont believe him, cried the old man; dont look at it! Its a wretched old barracknot to be compared with this.
I dont knowI cant judge, said the girl, smiling at Lord Warburton.
In this discussion Ralph Touchett took no interest whatever; he stood with his hands in his pockets, looking greatly as if he should like to renew his conversation with his new-found cousin.
Are you very fond of dogs? he enquired by way of beginning. He seemed to recognise that it was an awkward beginning for a clever man.
Very fond of them indeed.
You must keep the terrier, you know, he went on, still awkwardly.
Ill keep him while Im here, with pleasure.
That will be for a long time, I hope.
Youre very kind. I hardly know. My aunt must settle that.
Ill settle it with herat a quarter to seven. And Ralph looked at his watch again.
Im glad to be here at all, said the girl.
I dont believe you allow things to be settled for you.
Oh yes; if theyre settled as I like them.
I shall settle this as I like it, said Ralph. Its most unaccountable that we should never have known you.
I was thereyou had only to come and see me.
There? Where do you mean?
In the United States: in New York and Albany and other American places.
Ive been thereall over, but I never saw you. I cant make it out.
Miss Archer just hesitated. It was because there had been some disagreement between your mother and my father, after my mothers death, which took place when I was a child. In consequence of it we never expected to see you.
Ah, but I dont embrace all my mothers quarrelsheaven forbid! the young man cried. Youve lately lost your father? he went on more gravely.
Yes; more than a year ago. After that my aunt was very kind to me; she came to see me and proposed that I should come with her to Europe.
I see, said Ralph. She has adopted you.
Adopted me? The girl stared, and her blush came back to her, together with a momentary look of pain which gave her interlocutor some alarm. He had underestimated the effect of his words. Lord Warburton, who appeared constantly desirous of a nearer view of Miss Archer, strolled toward the two cousins at the moment, and as he did so she rested her wider eyes on him.
Oh no; she has not adopted me. Im not a candidate for adoption.
I beg a thousand pardons, Ralph murmured. I meantI meant He hardly knew what he meant.
You meant she has taken me up. Yes; she likes to take people up. She has been very kind to me; but, she added with a certain visible eagerness of desire to be explicit, Im very fond of my liberty.
Are you talking about Mrs. Touchett? the old man called out from his chair. Come here, my dear, and tell me about her. Im always thankful for information.
The girl hesitated again, smiling. Shes really very benevolent, she answered; after which she went over to her uncle, whose mirth was excited by her words.
Lord Warburton was left standing with Ralph Touchett, to whom in a moment he said: You wished a while ago to see my idea of an interesting woman. There it is!
CHAPTER III
Mrs. Touchett was certainly a person of many oddities, of which her behaviour on returning to her husbands house after many months was a noticeable specimen. She had her own way of doing all that she did, and this is the simplest description of a character which, although by no means without liberal motions, rarely succeeded in giving an impression of suavity. Mrs. Touchett might do a great deal of good, but she never pleased. This way of her own, of which she was so fond, was not intrinsically offensiveit was just unmistakeably distinguished from the ways of others. The edges of her conduct were so very clear-cut that for susceptible persons it sometimes had a knife-like effect. That hard fineness came out in her deportment during the first hours of her return from America, under circumstances in which it might have seemed that her first act would have been to exchange greetings with her husband and son. Mrs. Touchett, for reasons which she deemed excellent, always retired on such occasions into impenetrable seclusion, postponing the more sentimental ceremony until she had repaired the disorder of dress with a completeness which had the less reason to be of high importance as neither beauty nor vanity were concerned in it. She was a plain-faced old woman, without graces and without any great elegance, but with an extreme respect for her own motives. She was usually prepared to explain thesewhen the explanation was asked as a favour; and in such a case they proved totally different from those that had been attributed to her. She was virtually separated from her husband, but she appeared to perceive nothing irregular in the situation. It had become clear, at an early stage of their community, that they should never desire the same thing at the same moment, and this appearance had prompted her to rescue disagreement from the vulgar realm of accident. She did what she could to erect it into a lawa much more edifying aspect of itby going to live in Florence, where she bought a house and established herself; and by leaving her husband to take care of the English branch of his bank. This arrangement greatly pleased her; it was so felicitously definite. It struck her husband in the same light, in a foggy square in London, where it was at times the most definite fact he discerned; but he would have preferred that such unnatural things should have a greater vagueness. To agree to disagree had cost him an effort; he was ready to agree to almost anything but that, and saw no reason why either assent or dissent should be so terribly consistent. Mrs. Touchett indulged in no regrets nor speculations, and usually came once a year to spend a month with her husband, a period during which she apparently took pains to convince him that she had adopted the right system. She was not fond of the English style of life, and had three or four reasons for it to which she currently alluded; they bore upon minor points of that ancient order, but for Mrs. Touchett they amply justified non-residence. She detested bread-sauce, which, as she said, looked like a poultice and tasted like soap; she objected to the consumption of beer by her maid-servants; and she affirmed that the British laundress (Mrs. Touchett was very particular about the appearance of her linen) was not a mistress of her art. At fixed intervals she paid a visit to her own country; but this last had been longer than any of its predecessors.
She had taken up her niecethere was little doubt of that. One wet afternoon, some four months earlier than the occurrence lately narrated, this young lady had been seated alone with a book. To say she was so occupied is to say that her solitude did not press upon her; for her love of knowledge had a fertilising quality and her imagination was strong. There was at this time, however, a want of fresh taste in her situation which the arrival of an unexpected visitor did much to correct. The visitor had not been announced; the girl heard her at last walking about the adjoining room. It was in an old house at Albany, a large, square, double house, with a notice of sale in the windows of one of the lower apartments. There were two entrances, one of which had long been out of use but had never been removed. They were exactly alikelarge white doors, with an arched frame and wide side-lights, perched upon little stoops of red stone, which descended sidewise to the brick pavement of the street. The two houses together formed a single dwelling, the party-wall having been removed and the rooms placed in communication. These rooms, above-stairs, were extremely numerous, and were painted all over exactly alike, in a yellowish white which had grown sallow with time. On the third floor there was a sort of arched passage, connecting the two sides of the house, which Isabel and her sisters used in their childhood to call the tunnel and which, though it was short and well lighted, always seemed to the girl to be strange and lonely, especially on winter afternoons. She had been in the house, at different periods, as a child; in those days her grandmother lived there. Then there had been an absence of ten years, followed by a return to Albany before her fathers death. Her grandmother, old Mrs. Archer, had exercised, chiefly within the limits of the family, a large hospitality in the early period, and the little girls often spent weeks under her roofweeks of which Isabel had the happiest memory. The manner of life was different from that of her own homelarger, more plentiful, practically more festal; the discipline of the nursery was delightfully vague and the opportunity of listening to the conversation of ones elders (which with Isabel was a highly-valued pleasure) almost unbounded. There was a constant coming and going; her grandmothers sons and daughters and their children appeared to be in the enjoyment of standing invitations to arrive and remain, so that the house offered to a certain extent the appearance of a bustling provincial inn kept by a gentle old landlady who sighed a great deal and never presented a bill. Isabel of course knew nothing about bills; but even as a child she thought her grandmothers home romantic. There was a covered piazza behind it, furnished with a swing which was a source of tremulous interest; and beyond this was a long garden, sloping down to the stable and containing peach-trees of barely credible familiarity. Isabel had stayed with her grandmother at various seasons, but somehow all her visits had a flavour of peaches. On the other side, across the street, was an old house that was called the Dutch Housea peculiar structure dating from the earliest colonial time, composed of bricks that had been painted yellow, crowned with a gable that was pointed out to strangers, defended by a rickety wooden paling and standing sidewise to the street. It was occupied by a primary school for children of both sexes, kept or rather let go, by a demonstrative lady of whom Isabels chief recollection was that her hair was fastened with strange bedroomy combs at the temples and that she was the widow of some one of consequence. The little girl had been offered the opportunity of laying a foundation of knowledge in this establishment; but having spent a single day in it, she had protested against its laws and had been allowed to stay at home, where, in the September days, when the windows of the Dutch House were open, she used to hear the hum of childish voices repeating the multiplication tablean incident in which the elation of liberty and the pain of exclusion were indistinguishably mingled. The foundation of her knowledge was really laid in the idleness of her grandmothers house, where, as most of the other inmates were not reading people, she had uncontrolled use of a library full of books with frontispieces, which she used to climb upon a chair to take down. When she had found one to her tasteshe was guided in the selection chiefly by the frontispieceshe carried it into a mysterious apartment which lay beyond the library and which was called, traditionally, no one knew why, the office. Whose office it had been and at what period it had flourished, she never learned; it was enough for her that it contained an echo and a pleasant musty smell and that it was a chamber of disgrace for old pieces of furniture whose infirmities were not always apparent (so that the disgrace seemed unmerited and rendered them victims of injustice) and with which, in the manner of children, she had established relations almost human, certainly dramatic. There was an old haircloth sofa in especial, to which she had confided a hundred childish sorrows. The place owed much of its mysterious melancholy to the fact that it was properly entered from the second door of the house, the door that had been condemned, and that it was secured by bolts which a particularly slender little girl found it impossible to slide. She knew that this silent, motionless portal opened into the street; if the sidelights had not been filled with green paper she might have looked out upon the little brown stoop and the well-worn brick pavement. But she had no wish to look out, for this would have interfered with her theory that there was a strange, unseen place on the other sidea place which became to the childs imagination, according to its different moods, a region of delight or of terror.