The Portrait of a Lady — Volume 2

by Henry James

  CHAPTER XLVI

  Lord Warburton was not seen in Mrs. Osmond's drawing-room for severaldays, and Isabel couldn't fail to observe that her husband said nothingto her about having received a letter from him. She couldn't fail toobserve, either, that Osmond was in a state of expectancy and that,though it was not agreeable to him to betray it, he thought theirdistinguished friend kept him waiting quite too long. At the end of fourdays he alluded to his absence.

  "What has become of Warburton? What does he mean by treating one like atradesman with a bill?"

  "I know nothing about him," Isabel said. "I saw him last Friday at theGerman ball. He told me then that he meant to write to you."

  "He has never written to me."

  "So I supposed, from your not having told me."

  "He's an odd fish," said Osmond comprehensively. And on Isabel's makingno rejoinder he went on to enquire whether it took his lordship fivedays to indite a letter. "Does he form his words with such difficulty?"

  "I don't know," Isabel was reduced to replying. "I've never had a letterfrom him."

  "Never had a letter? I had an idea that you were at one time in intimatecorrespondence."

  She answered that this had not been the case, and let the conversationdrop. On the morrow, however, coming into the drawing-room late in theafternoon, her husband took it up again.

  "When Lord Warburton told you of his intention of writing what did yousay to him?" he asked.

  She just faltered. "I think I told him not to forget it.

  "Did you believe there was a danger of that?"

  "As you say, he's an odd fish."

  "Apparently he has forgotten it," said Osmond. "Be so good as to remindhim."

  "Should you like me to write to him?" she demanded.

  "I've no objection whatever."

  "You expect too much of me."

  "Ah yes, I expect a great deal of you."

  "I'm afraid I shall disappoint you," said Isabel.

  "My expectations have survived a good deal of disappointment."

  "Of course I know that. Think how I must have disappointed myself!If you really wish hands laid on Lord Warburton you must lay themyourself."

  For a couple of minutes Osmond answered nothing; then he said: "Thatwon't be easy, with you working against me."

  Isabel started; she felt herself beginning to tremble. He had a way oflooking at her through half-closed eyelids, as if he were thinking ofher but scarcely saw her, which seemed to her to have a wonderfullycruel intention. It appeared to recognise her as a disagreeablenecessity of thought, but to ignore her for the time as a presence.That effect had never been so marked as now. "I think you accuse me ofsomething very base," she returned.

  "I accuse you of not being trustworthy. If he doesn't after all comeforward it will be because you've kept him off. I don't know that it'sbase: it is the kind of thing a woman always thinks she may do. I've nodoubt you've the finest ideas about it."

  "I told you I would do what I could," she went on.

  "Yes, that gained you time."

  It came over her, after he had said this, that she had once thought himbeautiful. "How much you must want to make sure of him!" she exclaimedin a moment.

  She had no sooner spoken than she perceived the full reach of herwords, of which she had not been conscious in uttering them. They madea comparison between Osmond and herself, recalled the fact that she hadonce held this coveted treasure in her hand and felt herself richenough to let it fall. A momentary exultation took possession of her--ahorrible delight in having wounded him; for his face instantly told herthat none of the force of her exclamation was lost. He expressed nothingotherwise, however; he only said quickly: "Yes, I want it immensely."

  At this moment a servant came in to usher a visitor, and he was followedthe next by Lord Warburton, who received a visible check on seeingOsmond. He looked rapidly from the master of the house to the mistress;a movement that seemed to denote a reluctance to interrupt or even aperception of ominous conditions. Then he advanced, with his Englishaddress, in which a vague shyness seemed to offer itself as an elementof good-breeding; in which the only defect was a difficulty in achievingtransitions. Osmond was embarrassed; he found nothing to say; but Isabelremarked, promptly enough, that they had been in the act of talkingabout their visitor. Upon this her husband added that they hadn't knownwhat was become of him--they had been afraid he had gone away. "No,"he explained, smiling and looking at Osmond; "I'm only on the point ofgoing." And then he mentioned that he found himself suddenly recalledto England: he should start on the morrow or the day after. "I'm awfullysorry to leave poor Touchett!" he ended by exclaiming.

  For a moment neither of his companions spoke; Osmond only leaned backin his chair, listening. Isabel didn't look at him; she could only fancyhow he looked. Her eyes were on their visitor's face, where they werethe more free to rest that those of his lordship carefully avoided them.Yet Isabel was sure that had she met his glance she would have found itexpressive. "You had better take poor Touchett with you," she heard herhusband say, lightly enough, in a moment.

  "He had better wait for warmer weather," Lord Warburton answered. "Ishouldn't advise him to travel just now."

  He sat there a quarter of an hour, talking as if he might not soonsee them again--unless indeed they should come to England, a coursehe strongly recommended. Why shouldn't they come to England in theautumn?--that struck him as a very happy thought. It would give him suchpleasure to do what he could for them--to have them come and spend amonth with him. Osmond, by his own admission, had been to England butonce; which was an absurd state of things for a man of his leisure andintelligence. It was just the country for him--he would be sure to geton well there. Then Lord Warburton asked Isabel if she remembered whata good time she had had there and if she didn't want to try it again.Didn't she want to see Gardencourt once more? Gardencourt was reallyvery good. Touchett didn't take proper care of it, but it was the sortof place you could hardly spoil by letting it alone. Why didn't theycome and pay Touchett a visit? He surely must have asked them. Hadn'tasked them? What an ill-mannered wretch!--and Lord Warburton promised togive the master of Gardencourt a piece of his mind. Of course it was amere accident; he would be delighted to have them. Spending a month withTouchett and a month with himself, and seeing all the rest of thepeople they must know there, they really wouldn't find it half bad. LordWarburton added that it would amuse Miss Osmond as well, who had toldhim that she had never been to England and whom he had assured it was acountry she deserved to see. Of course she didn't need to go to Englandto be admired--that was her fate everywhere; but she would be an immensesuccess there, she certainly would, if that was any inducement. He askedif she were not at home: couldn't he say good-bye? Not that he likedgood-byes--he always funked them. When he left England the other day hehadn't said good-bye to a two-legged creature. He had had half a mindto leave Rome without troubling Mrs. Osmond for a final interview. Whatcould be more dreary than final interviews? One never said the thingsone wanted--one remembered them all an hour afterwards. On the otherhand one usually said a lot of things one shouldn't, simply from a sensethat one had to say something. Such a sense was upsetting; it muddledone's wits. He had it at present, and that was the effect it producedon him. If Mrs. Osmond didn't think he spoke as he ought she must setit down to agitation it was no light thing to part with Mrs. Osmond.He was really very sorry to be going. He had thought of writing to herinstead of calling--but he would write to her at any rate, to tell her alot of things that would be sure to occur to him as soon as he had leftthe house. They must think seriously about coming to Lockleigh.

  If there was anything awkward in the conditions of his visit or in theannouncement of his departure it failed to come to the surface. LordWarburton talked about his agitation but he showed it in no othermanner, and Isabel saw that since he had determined on a retreat he wascapable of executing it gallantly. She was very glad for him; she likedhim quite well enough to wish him to appear to carry a thing off
. Hewould do that on any occasion--not from impudence but simply from thehabit of success; and Isabel felt it out of her husband's power tofrustrate this faculty. A complex operation, as she sat there, went onin her mind. On one side she listened to their visitor; said what wasproper to him; read, more or less, between the lines of what he saidhimself; and wondered how he would have spoken if he had found heralone. On the other she had a perfect consciousness of Osmond's emotion.She felt almost sorry for him; he was condemned to the sharp pain ofloss without the relief of cursing. He had had a great hope, and now, ashe saw it vanish into smoke, he was obliged to sit and smile and twirlhis thumbs. Not that he troubled himself to smile very brightly; hetreated their friend on the whole to as vacant a countenance as soclever a man could very well wear. It was indeed a part of Osmond'scleverness that he could look consummately uncompromised. His presentappearance, however, was not a confession of disappointment; it wassimply a part of Osmond's habitual system, which was to be inexpressiveexactly in proportion as he was really intent. He had been intent onthis prize from the first; but he had never allowed his eagerness toirradiate his refined face. He had treated his possible son-in-law as hetreated every one--with an air of being interested in him only for hisown advantage, not for any profit to a person already so generally, soperfectly provided as Gilbert Osmond. He would give no sign now of aninward rage which was the result of a vanished prospect of gain--notthe faintest nor subtlest. Isabel could be sure of that, if it was anysatisfaction to her. Strangely, very strangely, it was a satisfactionshe wished Lord Warburton to triumph before her husband, and at the sametime she wished her husband to be very superior before Lord Warburton.Osmond, in his way, was admirable; he had, like their visitor, theadvantage of an acquired habit. It was not that of succeeding, but itwas something almost as good--that of not attempting. As he leaned backin his place, listening but vaguely to the other's friendly offers andsuppressed explanations--as if it were only proper to assume that theywere addressed essentially to his wife--he had at least (since so littleelse was left him) the comfort of thinking how well he personally hadkept out of it, and how the air of indifference, which he was now ableto wear, had the added beauty of consistency. It was something to beable to look as if the leave-taker's movements had no relation to hisown mind. The latter did well, certainly; but Osmond's performance wasin its very nature more finished. Lord Warburton's position was afterall an easy one; there was no reason in the world why he shouldn't leaveRome. He had had beneficent inclinations, but they had stopped shortof fruition he had never committed himself, and his honour was safe.Osmond appeared to take but a moderate interest in the proposal thatthey should go and stay with him and in his allusion to the successPansy might extract from their visit. He murmured a recognition, butleft Isabel to say that it was a matter requiring grave consideration.Isabel, even while she made this remark, could see the great vistawhich had suddenly opened out in her husband's mind, with Pansy's littlefigure marching up the middle of it.

  Lord Warburton had asked leave to bid good-bye to Pansy, but neitherIsabel nor Osmond had made any motion to send for her. He had the air ofgiving out that his visit must be short; he sat on a small chair, as ifit were only for a moment, keeping his hat in his hand. But he stayedand stayed; Isabel wondered what he was waiting for. She believed itwas not to see Pansy; she had an impression that on the whole he wouldrather not see Pansy. It was of course to see herself alone--he hadsomething to say to her. Isabel had no great wish to hear it, for shewas afraid it would be an explanation, and she could perfectly dispensewith explanations. Osmond, however, presently got up, like a man of goodtaste to whom it had occurred that so inveterate a visitor might wishto say just the last word of all to the ladies. "I've a letter to writebefore dinner," he said; "you must excuse me. I'll see if my daughter'sdisengaged, and if she is she shall know you're here. Of course whenyou come to Rome you'll always look us up. Mrs. Osmond will talk to youabout the English expedition: she decides all those things."

  The nod with which, instead of a hand-shake, he wound up this littlespeech was perhaps rather a meagre form of salutation but on the wholeit was all the occasion demanded. Isabel reflected that after heleft the room Lord Warburton would have no pretext for saying, "Yourhusband's very angry"; which would have been extremely disagreeable toher. Nevertheless, if he had done so, she would have said: "Oh, don't beanxious. He doesn't hate you: it's me that he hates!"

  It was only when they had been left alone together that her friendshowed a certain vague awkwardness--sitting down in another chair,handling two or three of the objects that were near him. "I hope he'llmake Miss Osmond come," he presently remarked. "I want very much to seeher."

  "I'm glad it's the last time," said Isabel.

  "So am I. She doesn't care for me."

  "No, she doesn't care for you."

  "I don't wonder at it," he returned. Then he added with inconsequence:"You'll come to England, won't you?"

  "I think we had better not."

  "Ah, you owe me a visit. Don't you remember that you were to have cometo Lockleigh once, and you never did?"

  "Everything's changed since then," said Isabel.

  "Not changed for the worse, surely--as far as we're concerned. To seeyou under my roof"--and he hung fire but an instant--"would be a greatsatisfaction."

  She had feared an explanation but that was the only one that occurred.They talked a little of Ralph, and in another moment Pansy came in,already dressed for dinner and with a little red spot in either cheek.She shook hands with Lord Warburton and stood looking up into hisface with a fixed smile--a smile that Isabel knew, though his lordshipprobably never suspected it, to be near akin to a burst of tears.

  "I'm going away," he said. "I want to bid you good-bye."

  "Good-bye, Lord Warburton." Her voice perceptibly trembled.

  "And I want to tell you how much I wish you may be very happy."

  "Thank you, Lord Warburton," Pansy answered.

  He lingered a moment and gave a glance at Isabel. "You ought to be veryhappy--you've got a guardian angel."

  "I'm sure I shall be happy," said Pansy in the tone of a person whosecertainties were always cheerful.

  "Such a conviction as that will take you a great way. But if it shouldever fail you, remember--remember--" And her interlocutor stammered alittle. "Think of me sometimes, you know!" he said with a vague laugh.Then he shook hands with Isabel in silence, and presently he was gone.

  When he had left the room she expected an effusion of tears from herstepdaughter; but Pansy in fact treated her to something very different.

  "I think you ARE my guardian angel!" she exclaimed very sweetly.

  Isabel shook her head. "I'm not an angel of any kind. I'm at the mostyour good friend."

  "You're a very good friend then--to have asked papa to be gentle withme."

  "I've asked your father nothing," said Isabel, wondering.

  "He told me just now to come to the drawing-room, and then he gave me avery kind kiss."

  "Ah," said Isabel, "that was quite his own idea!"

  She recognised the idea perfectly; it was very characteristic, and shewas to see a great deal more of it. Even with Pansy he couldn't puthimself the least in the wrong. They were dining out that day, and aftertheir dinner they went to another entertainment; so that it was not tilllate in the evening that Isabel saw him alone. When Pansy kissed himbefore going to bed he returned her embrace with even more than hisusual munificence, and Isabel wondered if he meant it as a hint that hisdaughter had been injured by the machinations of her stepmother. It wasa partial expression, at any rate, of what he continued to expect of hiswife. She was about to follow Pansy, but he remarked that he wished shewould remain; he had something to say to her. Then he walked about thedrawing-room a little, while she stood waiting in her cloak.

  "I don't understand what you wish to do," he said in a moment. "I shouldlike to know--so that I may know how to act."

  "Just now I wish to go to bed. I'm very t
ired."

  "Sit down and rest; I shall not keep you long. Not there--take acomfortable place." And he arranged a multitude of cushions that werescattered in picturesque disorder upon a vast divan. This was not,however, where she seated herself; she dropped into the nearest chair.The fire had gone out; the lights in the great room were few. She drewher cloak about her; she felt mortally cold. "I think you're trying tohumiliate me," Osmond went on. "It's a most absurd undertaking."

  "I haven't the least idea what you mean," she returned.

  "You've played a very deep game; you've managed it beautifully."

  "What is it that I've managed?"

  "You've not quite settled it, however; we shall see him again." And hestopped in front of her, with his hands in his pockets, looking down ather thoughtfully, in his usual way, which seemed meant to let her knowthat she was not an object, but only a rather disagreeable incident, ofthought.

  "If you mean that Lord Warburton's under an obligation to come backyou're wrong," Isabel said. "He's under none whatever."

  "That's just what I complain of. But when I say he'll come back I don'tmean he'll come from a sense of duty."

  "There's nothing else to make him. I think he has quite exhausted Rome."

  "Ah no, that's a shallow judgement. Rome's inexhaustible." And Osmondbegan to walk about again. "However, about that perhaps there's nohurry," he added. "It's rather a good idea of his that we should goto England. If it were not for the fear of finding your cousin there Ithink I should try to persuade you."

  "It may be that you'll not find my cousin," said Isabel.

  "I should like to be sure of it. However, I shall be as sure aspossible. At the same time I should like to see his house, that you toldme so much about at one time: what do you call it?--Gardencourt. It mustbe a charming thing. And then, you know, I've a devotion to the memoryof your uncle: you made me take a great fancy to him. I should like tosee where he lived and died. That indeed is a detail. Your friend wasright. Pansy ought to see England."

  "I've no doubt she would enjoy it," said Isabel.

  "But that's a long time hence; next autumn's far off," Osmond continued;"and meantime there are things that more nearly interest us. Do youthink me so very proud?" he suddenly asked.

  "I think you very strange."

  "You don't understand me."

  "No, not even when you insult me."

  "I don't insult you; I'm incapable of it. I merely speak of certainfacts, and if the allusion's an injury to you the fault's not mine.It's surely a fact that you have kept all this matter quite in your ownhands."

  "Are you going back to Lord Warburton?" Isabel asked. "I'm very tired ofhis name."

  "You shall hear it again before we've done with it."

  She had spoken of his insulting her, but it suddenly seemed to her thatthis ceased to be a pain. He was going down--down; the vision of such afall made her almost giddy: that was the only pain. He was too strange,too different; he didn't touch her. Still, the working of his morbidpassion was extraordinary, and she felt a rising curiosity to know inwhat light he saw himself justified. "I might say to you that I judgeyou've nothing to say to me that's worth hearing," she returned in amoment. "But I should perhaps be wrong. There's a thing that would beworth my hearing--to know in the plainest words of what it is you accuseme."

  "Of having prevented Pansy's marriage to Warburton. Are those wordsplain enough?"

  "On the contrary, I took a great interest in it. I told you so; and whenyou told me that you counted on me--that I think was what you said--Iaccepted the obligation. I was a fool to do so, but I did it."

  "You pretended to do it, and you even pretended reluctance to make memore willing to trust you. Then you began to use your ingenuity to gethim out of the way."

  "I think I see what you mean," said Isabel.

  "Where's the letter you told me he had written me?" her husbanddemanded.

  "I haven't the least idea; I haven't asked him."

  "You stopped it on the way," said Osmond.

  Isabel slowly got up; standing there in her white cloak, which coveredher to her feet, she might have represented the angel of disdain, firstcousin to that of pity. "Oh, Gilbert, for a man who was so fine--!" sheexclaimed in a long murmur.

  "I was never so fine as you. You've done everything you wanted. You'vegot him out of the way without appearing to do so, and you've placedme in the position in which you wished to see me--that of a man who hastried to marry his daughter to a lord, but has grotesquely failed."

  "Pansy doesn't care for him. She's very glad he's gone," Isabel said.

  "That has nothing to do with the matter."

  "And he doesn't care for Pansy."

  "That won't do; you told me he did. I don't know why you wanted thisparticular satisfaction," Osmond continued; "you might have taken someother. It doesn't seem to me that I've been presumptuous--that I havetaken too much for granted. I've been very modest about it, very quiet.The idea didn't originate with me. He began to show that he liked herbefore I ever thought of it. I left it all to you."

  "Yes, you were very glad to leave it to me. After this you must attendto such things yourself."

  He looked at her a moment; then he turned away. "I thought you were veryfond of my daughter."

  "I've never been more so than to-day."

  "Your affection is attended with immense limitations. However, thatperhaps is natural."

  "Is this all you wished to say to me?" Isabel asked, taking a candlethat stood on one of the tables.

  "Are you satisfied? Am I sufficiently disappointed?"

  "I don't think that on the whole you're disappointed. You've had anotheropportunity to try to stupefy me."

  "It's not that. It's proved that Pansy can aim high."

  "Poor little Pansy!" said Isabel as she turned away with her candle.