"Forgive me; I will never vex you again," she said, with beseeching looks.

"Forgive me; I will never vex you again," she said beseechingly.


Her inward voice said distinctly--"It is only I who have to forgive."


You have made me feel uncommonly ill with your folly," said Grandcourt, apparently choosing this statement as the strongest possible use of language.


cried Lydia, with a faint smile;--was he aware of the minor fact that he made her feel ill this morning?


But with the quick transition natural to her, she was now ready to coax him if he would let her, that they might part in some degree reconciled.

She was now ready to coax him if he would let her, so that they might part in some degree reconciled.


She ventured to lay her hand on his shoulder, and he did not move away from her: she had so far succeeded in alarming him, that he was not sorry for these proofs of returned subjection.

She ventured to lay her hand on his shoulder, and he did not move away. She had so far succeeded in alarming him, that he was not sorry for these proofs of returned subjection.


"Light a cigar," she said, soothingly, taking the case from his breast-pocket and opening it.

"Light a cigar," she said, soothingly, taking the case from his breast-pocket.


Amidst such caressing signs of mutual fear they parted.


The effect that clung and gnawed within Grandcourt was a sense of imperfect mastery.

The effect that clung and gnawed within Grandcourt was a sense of his imperfect mastery.


The beginning of an acquaintance whether with persons or things is to get a definite outline for our ignorance.


Mr. Grandcourt's wish to be introduced had no suddenness for Gwendolen; but when Lord Brackenshaw moved aside a little for the prefigured stranger to come forward and she felt herself face to face with the real man, there was a little shock which flushed her cheeks and vexatiously deepened with her consciousness of it.

Mr. Grandcourt's wish to be introduced was not unexpected; but when Gwendolen came face to face with the real man, there was a little shock which flushed her cheeks.


The shock came from the reversal of her expectations: Grandcourt could hardly have been more unlike all her imaginary portraits of him.

The shock came from the reversal of her expectations: Grandcourt could hardly have been more unlike her imaginary portraits of him.


He was slightly taller than herself, and their eyes seemed to be on a level; there was not the faintest smile on his face as he looked at her, not a trace of self-consciousness or anxiety in his bearing: when he raised his hat he showed an extensive baldness surrounded with a mere fringe of reddish-blonde hair, but he also showed a perfect hand; the line of feature from brow to chin undisguised by beard was decidedly handsome, with only moderate departures from the perpendicular, and the slight whisker too was perpendicular.

He was slightly taller than herself, and their eyes seemed to be on a level; there was not the faintest smile on his face as he looked at her, not a trace of self-consciousness or anxiety in his bearing: when he raised his hat he showed an extensive baldness surrounded with a fringe of reddish-blonde hair, but he also showed a perfect hand; and his features were decidedly handsome.


It was not possible for a human aspect to be freer from grimace or solicitous wrigglings: also it was perhaps not possible for a breathing man wide awake to look less animated.

It was not possible for a face to be freer from grimace: also it was perhaps not possible for a breathing man to look less animated.


The correct Englishman, drawing himself up from his bow into rigidity, assenting severely, and seemed to be in a state of internal drill, suggests a suppressed vivacity, and may be suspected of letting go with some violence when he is released from parade; but Grandcourt's bearing had no rigidity, it inclined rather to the flaccid. His complexion had a faded fairness resembling that of an actress when bare of the artificial white and red; his long narrow gray eyes expressed nothing but indifference.

His bearing was relaxed; his long narrow grey eyes expressed nothing but indifference.


Attempts at description are stupid: who can all at once describe a human being?


Even when he is presented to us we only begin that knowledge of his appearance which must be completed by innumerable impressions under differing circumstances.

Our knowledge of his appearance must be completed by innumerable impressions.


We recognize the alphabet; we are not sure of the language.


I am only mentioning the point that Gwendolen saw by the light of a prepared contrast in the first minutes of her meeting with Grandcourt: they were summed up in the words, "He is not ridiculous."

Gwendolen's first impressions were summed up in the words, "He is not ridiculous."


But forthwith Lord Brackenshaw was gone, and what is called conversation had begun, the first and constant element in it being that Grandcourt looked at Gwendolen persistently with a slightly exploring gaze, but without change of expression, while she only occasionally looked at him with a flash of observation a little softened by coquetry.

As Lord Brackenshaw left, conversation began, while Grandcourt looked at Gwendolen persistently with a slightly exploring gaze, but without change of expression. She only occasionally glanced at him with a flash of observation a little softened by coquetry.


Also, after her answers there was a longer or shorter pause before he spoke again.

After her answers there was a pause before he spoke again.


"I used to think archery was a great bore," Grandcourt began.


He spoke with a fine accent, but with a certain broken drawl, as of a distinguished personage with a distinguished cold on his chest.

He spoke with a fine accent, but with a broken and distinguished drawl.


(Pause, during which she imagined various degrees and modes of opinion about herself that might be entertained by Grandcourt.)

(Pause, during which she imagined various opinions about herself that Grandcourt might hold.)


In things of this sort one generally sees people missing and simpering."


"I suppose you are a first-rate shot with a rifle."


(Pause, during which Gwendolen, having taken a rapid observation of Grandcourt, made a brief graphic description of him to an indefinite hearer.)

(Pause, during which Gwendolen made a brief graphic description of Grandcourt to an unknown hearer.)


People who have done things once and left them off make one feel very contemptible, as if one were using cast-off fashions.

People who have done things once and left them off make one feel very contemptible.


I hope you have not left off all follies, because I practice a great many."


(Pause, during which Gwendolen made several interpretations of her own speech.)


"Well, in general, I think, whatever is agreeable is called a folly.

"Well, in general, I think whatever is agreeable is called a folly.


But you have not left off hunting, I hear."


(Pause, wherein Gwendolen recalled what she had heard about Grandcourt's position, and decided that he was the most aristocratic-looking man she had ever seen.)

(Pause, wherein Gwendolen recalled Grandcourt's position, and decided that he was the most aristocratic-looking man she had ever seen.)


"And do you care about the turf?--or is that among the things you have left off?"

"And do you care about the turf? - or is that among the things you have left off?"


(Pause, during which Gwendolen thought that a man of extremely calm, cold manners might be less disagreeable as a husband than other men, and not likely to interfere with his wife's preferences.)


"I run a horse now and then; but I don't go in for the thing as some men do.


"Yes, indeed; I never like my life so well as when I am on horseback, having a great gallop.

"Yes, indeed: I never like my life so well as when I am on horseback, having a great gallop.


(Pause, wherein Gwendolen wondered whether Grandcourt would like what she said, but assured herself that she was not going to disguise her tastes.)


When I am on horseback I never think of danger.


It seems to me that if I broke my bones I should not feel it.


I should go at anything that came in my way."


(Pause during which Gwendolen had run through a whole hunting season with two chosen hunters to ride at will.)

(Pause, during which Gwendolen had run through a whole hunting season with two chosen hunters to ride at will.)


"You would perhaps like tiger-hunting or pig-sticking.


I saw some of that for a season or two in the East.


Everything here is poor stuff after that."


(Pause, wherein Gwendolen speculated on the probability that the men of coldest manners were the most adventurous, and felt the strength of her own insight, supposing the question had to be decided.)

(Pause, wherein Gwendolen speculated that men of coldest manners were probably the most adventurous, and felt the strength of her own insight.)


"I begin to think I am very fortunate, because everything is new to me: it is only that I can't get enough of it. I am not used to anything except being dull, which I should like to leave off as you have left off shooting."

"I begin to think I am very fortunate, because everything is new to me: I am not used to anything except being dull, which I should like to leave off as you have left off shooting."


(Pause, during which it occurred to Gwendolen that a man of cold and distinguished manners might possibly be a dull companion; but on the other hand she thought that most persons were dull, that she had not observed husbands to be companions--and that after all she was not going to accept Grandcourt.)

(Pause, during which it occurred to Gwendolen that a man of cold and distinguished manners might possibly be a dull companion; but then most persons were dull - and after all she was not going to accept Grandcourt.)


(Pause, during which Gwendolen reflected that the life of an unmarried woman who could not go about and had no command of anything must necessarily be dull through all degrees of comparison as time went on.)

(Pause, during which Gwendolen reflected that the life of an unmarried woman who could not go about must be dull indeed.)


I imagine you will carry the first prize."


"I don't know that. I have great rivals.


Did you not observe how well Miss Arrowpoint shot?"


(Pause, wherein Gwendolen was thinking that men had been known to choose some one else than the woman they most admired, and recalled several experiences of that kind in novels.)


"Shall we go now and hear what the scoring says?


Every one is going to the other end now--shall we join them?

Everyone is going to the other end now - shall we join them?


Gwendolen found a relief for herself by thus changing the situation: not that the _tete--tete_ was quite disagreeable to her; but while it lasted she apparently could not get rid of the unwonted flush in her cheeks and the sense of surprise which made her feel less mistress of herself than usual.

Gwendolen found it a relief to thus change the situation: not that the tte--tte was quite disagreeable; but while it lasted she could not get rid of the unwonted flush in her cheeks and the sense of surprise which made her feel less mistress of herself than usual.


And this Mr. Grandcourt, who seemed to feel his own importance more than he did hers--a sort of unreasonableness few of us can tolerate--must not take for granted that he was of great moment to her, or that because others speculated on him as a desirable match she held herself altogether at his beck.

And this Mr. Grandcourt must not take for granted that he was of great moment to her, or that because others speculated on him as a desirable match she held herself at his beck and call.


How Grandcourt had filled up the pauses will be more evident hereafter.


"You have just missed the gold arrow, Gwendolen," said Mr. Gascoigne.


"Miss Juliet Fenn scores eight above you."


I should have felt that I was making myself too disagreeable--taking the best of everything," said Gwendolen, quite easily.

I should have felt that I was taking the best of everything," said Gwendolen easily.


It was impossible to be jealous of Juliet Fenn, a girl as middling as mid-day market in everything but her archery and plainness, in which last she was noticeable like her father: underhung and with receding brow resembling that of the more intelligent fishes.

It was impossible to be jealous of Juliet Fenn, a girl middling in everything but her archery and her plainness, in which she resembled one of the more intelligent fishes.


(Surely, considering the importance which is given to such an accident in female offspring, marriageable men, or what the new English calls "intending bridegrooms," should look at themselves dispassionately in the glass, since their natural selection of a mate prettier than themselves is not certain to bar the effect of their own ugliness.)


There was now a lively movement in the mingling groups, which carried the talk along with it.

There was now a lively movement of mingling groups.


Every one spoke to every one else by turns, and Gwendolen, who chose to see what was going on around her now, observed that Grandcourt was having Klesmer presented to him by some one unknown to her--a middle-aged man, with dark, full face and fat hands, who seemed to be on the easiest terms with both, and presently led the way in joining the Arrowpoints, whose acquaintance had already been made by both him and Grandcourt.

Gwendolen observed that Grandcourt was having Klesmer presented to him by a middle-aged man, with a dark, full face and fat hands, who seemed to be friendly with both.


Who this stranger was she did not care much to know; but she wished to observe what was Grandcourt's manner toward others than herself.

Who this stranger was she did not care to know; but she wished to observe Grandcourt's manner toward others than herself.


Precisely the same: except that he did not look much at Miss Arrowpoint, but rather at Klesmer, who was speaking with animation--now stretching out his long fingers horizontally, now pointing downward with his fore-finger, now folding his arms and tossing his mane, while he addressed himself first to one and then to the other, including Grandcourt, who listened with an impassive face and narrow eyes, his left fore-finger in his waistcoat-pocket, and his right slightly touching his thin whisker.

Precisely the same: except that he did not look much at Miss Arrowpoint, but rather at Klesmer, who was speaking with animation and tossing his mane. Grandcourt listened with an impassive face and narrow eyes, his left fore-finger in his waistcoat-pocket, and his right slightly touching his thin whisker.


"I wonder which style Miss Arrowpoint admires most," was a thought that glanced through Gwendolen's mind, while her eyes and lips gathered rather a mocking expression.

"I wonder which style Miss Arrowpoint admires most," thought Gwendolen, rather mockingly.


But she would not indulge her sense of amusement by watching, as if she were curious, and she gave all her animation to those immediately around her, determined not to care whether Mr. Grandcourt came near her again or not.

Then she gave all her animation to those immediately around her, determined not to care whether Mr. Grandcourt came near her again or not.


He did come, however, and at a moment when he could propose to conduct Mrs. Davilow to her carriage, "Shall we meet again in the ball-room?"

He did not come, however, until it was time to conduct Mrs. Davilow to her carriage.
"Shall we meet again in the ball-room tonight?"


she said as he raised his hat at parting.


The "yes" in reply had the usual slight drawl and perfect gravity.

His "yes" in reply had the usual slight drawl and perfect gravity.


"You were wrong for once, Gwendolen," said Mrs. Davilow, during their few minutes' drive to the castle.

"You were wrong about Mr. Grandcourt, Gwendolen," said Mrs. Davilow, during their drive to the castle.


"About Mr. Grandcourt's appearance and manners.


"You can't find anything ridiculous in him."


"I suppose I could if I tried, but I don't want to do it," said Gwendolen, rather pettishly; and her mother was afraid to say more.

"I could if I tried, but I don't want to," said Gwendolen, rather pettishly; and her mother was afraid to say more.


It was the rule on these occasions for the ladies and gentlemen to dine apart, so that the dinner might make a time of comparative ease and rest for both.

It was the rule on these occasions for the ladies and gentlemen to dine apart.


Indeed, the gentlemen had a set of archery stories about the epicurism of the ladies, who had somehow been reported to show a revolting masculine judgment in venison, even asking for the fat--a proof of the frightful rate at which corruption might go on in women, but for severe social restraint, and every year the amiable Lord Brackenshaw, who was something of a _gourmet_, mentioned Byron's opinion that a woman should never be seen eating,--introducing it with a confidential--"The fact is" as if he were for the first time admitting his concurrence in that sentiment of the refined poet.


In the ladies' dining-room it was evident that Gwendolen was not a general favorite with her own sex: there were no beginnings of intimacy between her and other girls, and in conversation they rather noticed what she said than spoke to her in free exchange. Perhaps it was that she was not much interested in them, and when left alone in their company had a sense of empty benches.

In the ladies' dining-room it was evident that Gwendolen was not a favourite with her own sex: there was no intimacy between her and other girls, perhaps because she was not much interested in them.


Mrs. Vulcany once remarked that Miss Harleth was too fond of the gentlemen; but we know that she was not in the least fond of them--she was only fond of their homage--and women did not give her homage.


The exception to this willing aloofness from her was Miss Arrowpoint, who often managed unostentatiously to be by her side, and talked to her with quiet friendliness.

The exception to this aloofness from her was Miss Arrowpoint, who talked to her with quiet friendliness.


"She knows, as I do, that our friends are ready to quarrel over a husband for us," thought Gwendolen, "and she is determined not to enter into the quarrel."


"I think Miss Arrowpoint has the best manners I ever saw," said Mrs. Davilow, when she and Gwendolen were in a dressing-room with Mrs. Gascoigne and Anna, but at a distance where they could have their talk apart.

"I think Miss Arrowpoint has the best manners I ever saw," said Mrs. Davilow, when she and Gwendolen had retired to a dressing-room.


"I wish I were like her," said Gwendolen.


Are you getting discontented with yourself, Gwen?"


"I am sure you ought to be satisfied to-day.


"Oh, that is over now, and I don't know what will come next," said Gwendolen, stretching herself with a sort of moan and throwing up her arms.

"Oh, that is over now, and I don't know what will come next," said Gwendolen, stretching and throwing up her arms.


They were bare now; it was the fashion to dance in the archery dress, throwing off the jacket; and the simplicity of her white cashmere with its border of pale green set off her form to the utmost.

They were bare now; it was the fashion to dance in the archery dress, without the jacket; and her simple white cashmere with its border of pale green set off her form.


A thin line of gold round her neck, and the gold star on her breast, were her only ornaments.


Her smooth soft hair piled up into a grand crown made a clear line about her brow.


Sir Joshua would have been glad to take her portrait; and he would have had an easier task than the historian at least in this, that he would not have had to represent the truth of change--only to give stability to one beautiful moment.


"The dancing will come next," said Mrs. Davilow "You are sure to enjoy that."

"The dancing will come next," said Mrs. Davilow. "You are sure to enjoy that."


I shall not waltz or polk with any one."


"Why in the world do you say that all on a sudden?"


"I can't bear having ugly people so near me."


"Mr. Clintock, for example, is not ugly."


Mrs. Davilow dared not mention Grandcourt.


"Well, I hate woolen cloth touching me."


said Mrs. Davilow to her sister who now came up from the other end of the room.


"Gwendolen says she will not waltz or polk."


"She is rather given to whims, I think," said Mrs. Gascoigne, gravely.


"It would be more becoming in her to behave as other young ladies do on such an occasion as this; especially when she has had the advantage of first-rate dancing lessons."


"Why should I dance if I don't like it, aunt?


said Mrs. Gascoigne, in a tone of severe check, and Anna looked frightened at Gwendolen's daring.


But they all passed on without saying any more.


Apparently something had changed Gwendolen's mood since the hour of exulting enjoyment in the archery-ground.


But she did not look the worse under the chandeliers in the ball-room, where the soft splendor of the scene and the pleasant odors from the conservatory could not but be soothing to the temper, when accompanied with the consciousness of being preeminently sought for.

But she did not look the worse for it under the chandeliers in the ball-room, where the soft splendour of the scene and the pleasant odours from the conservatory soothed her temper, as did the consciousness of being sought after.


Hardly a dancing man but was anxious to have her for a partner, and each whom she accepted was in a state of melancholy remonstrance that she would not waltz or polk.

Almost every man was anxious to have her for a partner, and was in a state of melancholy remonstrance that she would not waltz or polk.


were exclamations not without piquancy for her.


The ladies who waltzed naturally thought that Miss Harleth only wanted to make herself particular; but her uncle when he overheard her refusal, supported her by saying,


He thought she was certainly more distinguished in not waltzing, and he wished her to be distinguished.


The archery ball was intended to be kept at the subdued pitch that suited all dignities clerical and secular; it was not an escapement for youthful high spirits, and he himself was of opinion that the fashionable dances were too much of a romp.


Among the remonstrant dancing men, however, Mr. Grandcourt was not numbered.


After standing up for a quadrille with Miss Arrowpoint, it seemed that he meant to ask for no other partner.


Gwendolen observed him frequently with the Arrowpoints, but he never took an opportunity of approaching her.

Gwendolen saw him frequently with the Arrowpoints, but he never approached her.


Mr. Gascoigne was sometimes speaking to him; but Mr. Gascoigne was everywhere.


It was in her mind now that she would probably after all not have the least trouble about him: perhaps he had looked at her without any particular admiration, and was too much used to everything in the world to think of her as more than one of the girls who were invited in that part of the country. Of course! It was ridiculous of elders to entertain notions about what a man would do, without having seen him even through a telescope. Probably he meant to marry Miss Arrowpoint.

She thought that she would probably not have the least trouble about him after all: probably he meant to marry Miss Arrowpoint.


Whatever might come, she, Gwendolen, was not going to be disappointed: the affair was a joke whichever way it turned, for she had never committed herself even by a silent confidence in anything Mr. Grandcourt would do.

Whatever might come, she, Gwendolen, was not going to be disappointed: for she had never committed herself even by a silent confidence in anything Mr. Grandcourt would do.


Still, she noticed that he did sometimes quietly and gradually change his position according to hers, so that he could see her whenever she was dancing, and if he did not admire her--so much the worse for him.

Still, she noticed that he did sometimes quietly and gradually change his position according to hers, so that he could see her whenever she was dancing.


This movement for the sake of being in sight of her was more direct than usual rather late in the evening, when Gwendolen had accepted Klesmer as a partner; and that wide-glancing personage, who saw everything and nothing by turns, said to her when they were walking, "Mr. Grandcourt is a man of taste.

This movement for the sake of watching her was more direct than usual late in the evening, when Gwendolen had Klesmer as a partner; and that wide-glancing personage said to her, "Mr. Grandcourt is a man of taste.


"Perhaps he likes to look at what is against his taste," said Gwendolen, with a light laugh; she was quite courageous with Klesmer now.


"He may be so tired of admiring that he likes disgust for variety."


"Those words are not suitable to your lips," said Klesmer, quickly, with one of his grand frowns, while he shook his hand as if to banish the discordant sounds.

"Those words are not suitable to your lips," said Klesmer, quickly, with one of his grand frowns.


"Are you as critical of words as of music?"


I should require your words to be what your face and form are--always among the meanings of a noble music."

I should require your words to be as noble as your face and form."


"That is a compliment as well as a correction.


But do you know I am bold enough to wish to correct _you_, and require you to understand a joke?"


"One may understand jokes without liking them," said the terrible Klesmer.


"I have had opera books sent me full of jokes; it was just because I understood them that I did not like them.


The comic people are ready to challenge a man because he looks grave.


Then I am what we call ticketed as a fellow without _esprit_.


But, in fact," said Klesmer, suddenly dropping from his quick narrative to a reflective tone, with an impressive frown, "I am very sensible to wit and humor."


"I am glad you tell me that," said Gwendolen, not without some wickedness of intention.


But Klesmer's thoughts had flown off on the wings of his own statement, as their habit was, and she had the wickedness all to herself.


"Pray, who is that standing near the card-room door?"


she went on, seeing there the same stranger with whom Klesmer had been in animated talk on the archery ground.


"No, no; an amateur I have seen in town; Lush, a Mr. Lush--too fond of Meyerbeer and Scribe--too fond of the mechanical-dramatic."

"No, an amateur I have seen in town - too fond of popular operas - a Mr. Lush."


I wanted to know whether you thought his face and form required that his words should be among the meanings of noble music?"


Klesmer was conquered, and flashed at her a delightful smile which made them quite friendly until she begged to be deposited by the side of her mamma.


Three minutes afterward her preparations for Grandcourt's indifference were all canceled. Turning her head after some remark to her mother, she found that he had made his way up to her.

Three minutes afterward, when she was back with her mamma, Grandcourt made his way up to her.


"May I ask if you are tired of dancing, Miss Harleth?"


he began, looking down with his former unperturbed expression.


"Will you do me the honor--the next--or another quadrille?"

"Will you do me the honour - the next - or another quadrille?"


"I should have been very happy," said Gwendolen looking at her card, "but I am engaged for the next to Mr. Clintock--and indeed I perceive that I am doomed for every quadrille; I have not one to dispose of."

"I should have been very happy," said Gwendolen looking at her card, "but I am engaged for the next to Mr. Clintock - and indeed I have not one quadrille left to dispose of."


She was not sorry to punish Mr. Grandcourt's tardiness, yet at the same time she would have liked to dance with him.


She gave him a charming smile as she looked up to deliver her answer, and he stood still looking down at her with no smile at all.

She gave him a charming smile, and he stood looking down at her with no smile at all.


"I am unfortunate in being too late," he said, after a moment's pause.


"It seemed to me that you did not care for dancing," said Gwendolen.


"I thought it might be one of the things you had left off."


"Yes, but I have not begun to dance with you," said Grandcourt.


Always there was the same pause before he took up his cue.


"You make dancing a new thing, as you make archery."


"Then I don't know whether to feel flattered or not.


When you had once danced with me there would be no more novelty in it."

"But once you had danced with me there would be no more novelty in it."


"On the contrary, there would probably be much more."


"It is difficult to make Miss Harleth understand her power?"


Here Grandcourt had turned to Mrs. Davilow, who, smiling gently at her daughter, said,

Here Grandcourt had turned to Mrs. Davilow, who, smiling gently at her daughter, said-


"I think she does not generally strike people as slow to understand."


"Mamma," said Gwendolen, in a deprecating tone, "I am adorably stupid, and want everything explained to me--when the meaning is pleasant."

"Mamma," said Gwendolen, in a deprecating tone, "I am adorably stupid, and want everything explained to me - when the meaning is pleasant."


"If you are stupid, I admit that stupidity is adorable," returned Grandcourt, after the usual pause, and without change of tone.


"I begin to think that my cavalier has forgotten me," Gwendolen observed after a little while.

"I begin to think that Mr Clintock has forgotten me," Gwendolen observed, looking round for her partner.


"He deserves to be renounced," said Grandcourt.


"I think he is very pardonable," said Gwendolen.


"There must have been some misunderstanding," said Mrs. Davilow.


"Mr. Clintock was too anxious about the engagement to have forgotten it."


But now Lady Brackenshaw came up and said, "Miss Harleth, Mr. Clintock has charged me to express to you his deep regret that he was obliged to leave without having the pleasure of dancing with you again.

But just then Lady Brackenshaw came up and said, "Miss Harleth, Mr. Clintock has charged me to express to you his deep regret that he was obliged to leave without having the pleasure of dancing with you again."


An express came from his father, the archdeacon; something important; he was to go.


"Oh, he was very good to remember the engagement under the circumstances," said Gwendolen.


"I am sorry he was called away," said Gwendolen, politely.


It was easy to be politely sorrowful on so felicitous an occasion.


"Then I can profit by Mr. Clintock's misfortune?" said Grandcourt. "May I hope that you will let me take his place?"

"May I hope that you will let me take his place?" said Grandcourt.


"I shall be very happy to dance the next quadrille with you."


The appropriateness of the event seemed an augury, and as Gwendolen stood up for the quadrille with Grandcourt, there was a revival in her of the exultation--the sense of carrying everything before her, which she had felt earlier in the day.

It seemed an augury, and as Gwendolen stood up for the quadrille with Grandcourt, her earlier exultation revived.


No man could have walked through the quadrille with more irreproachable ease than Grandcourt; and the absence of all eagerness in his attention to her suited his partner's taste.

No man could have walked through the dance with more irreproachable ease; and the absence of all eagerness in his attention suited her taste.


She was now convinced that he meant to distinguish her, to mark his admiration of her in a noticeable way; and it began to appear probable that she would have it in her power to reject him, whence there was a pleasure in reckoning up the advantages which would make her rejection splendid, and in giving Mr. Grandcourt his utmost value.

She was now convinced that he meant to distinguish her; and it began to appear probable that she would have it in her power to reject him.


It was also agreeable to divine that this exclusive selection of her to dance with, from among all the unmarried ladies present, would attract observation; though she studiously avoided seeing this, and at the end of the quadrille walked away on Grandcourt's arm as if she had been one of the shortest sighted instead of the longest and widest sighted of mortals.

It was agreeable to know that his selecting her to dance with, from all the ladies present, attracted observation; though she studiously avoided seeing this, and at the end of the quadrille walked away on Grandcourt's arm as if she had been the shortest sighted of mortals.


They encountered Miss Arrowpoint, who was standing with Lady Brackenshaw and a group of gentlemen. The heiress looked at Gwendolen invitingly and said, "I hope you will vote with us, Miss Harleth, and Mr. Grandcourt too, though he is not an archer." Gwendolen and Grandcourt paused to join the group, and found that the voting turned on the project of a picnic archery meeting to be held in Cardell Chase, where the evening entertainment would be more poetic than a ball under chandeliers--a feast of sunset lights along the glades and through the branches and over the solemn tree-tops.

They joined Miss Arrowpoint and Lady Brackenshaw amongst a group who were discussing a project: a picnic archery meeting to be held in Cardell Chase.


Gwendolen thought the scheme delightful--equal to playing Robin Hood and Maid Marian: and Mr. Grandcourt, when appealed to a second time, said it was a thing to be done; whereupon Mr. Lush, who stood behind Lady Brackenshaw's elbow, drew Gwendolen's notice by saying with a familiar look and tone to Grandcourt, "Diplow would be a good place for the meeting, and more convenient: there's a fine bit between the oaks toward the north gate."

Gwendolen thought the scheme delightful, and Mr. Grandcourt said it was a thing to be done. Mr. Lush, who stood behind Lady Brackenshaw, said with a familiar tone to Grandcourt, "Diplow would be a good place for the meeting, and more convenient."


Impossible to look more unconscious of being addressed than Grandcourt; but Gwendolen took a new survey of the speaker, deciding, first, that he must be on terms of intimacy with the tenant of Diplow, and, secondly, that she would never, if she could help it, let him come within a yard of her.

Although Grandcourt looked totally unconscious of being addressed, Gwendolen took a new survey of the speaker, deciding, first, that he must be on intimate terms with Grandcourt, and, secondly, that she would never let him come within a yard of her.


She was subject to physical antipathies, and Mr. Lush's prominent eyes, fat though not clumsy figure, and strong black gray-besprinkled hair of frizzy thickness, which, with the rest of his prosperous person, was enviable to many, created one of the strongest of her antipathies.

Mr. Lush's prominent eyes, fat though not clumsy figure, and strong black grey-besprinkled frizzy hair, created in her a strong antipathy.


To be safe from his looking at her, she murmured to Grandcourt, "I should like to continue walking."

She murmured to Grandcourt, "I should like to continue walking."


He obeyed immediately; but when they were thus away from any audience, he spoke no word for several minutes, and she, out of a half-amused, half-serious inclination for experiment, would not speak first.

He obeyed immediately; but spoke no word for several minutes, and she, out of a half-amused inclination for experiment, would not speak first.


They turned into the large conservatory, beautifully lit up with Chinese lamps.


The other couples there were at a distance which would not have interfered with any dialogue, but still they walked in silence until they had reached the farther end where there was a flush of pink light, and the second wide opening into the ball-room.

The other couples were at a distance, but still they walked in silence until they had reached the farther end where there was a second wide opening into the ball-room.


Grandcourt, when they had half turned round, paused and said languidly,


If the situation had been described to Gwendolen half an hour before, she would have laughed heartily at it, and could only have imagined herself returning a playful, satirical answer.

Half an hour before, Gwendolen could only have imagined herself returning a playful, satirical answer.


But for some mysterious reason--it was a mystery of which she had a faint wondering consciousness--she dared not be satirical: she had begun to feel a wand over her that made her afraid of offending Grandcourt.

But for some mysterious reason she dared not be satirical: she had begun to feel a wand over her that made her afraid of offending Grandcourt.


"Yes," she said, quietly, without considering what "kind of thing" was meant--whether the flowers, the scents, the ball in general, or this episode of walking with Mr. Grandcourt in particular.

"Yes," she said, quietly, without considering what "kind of thing" was meant - whether the flowers, the scents, the ball in general, or walking with Mr. Grandcourt in particular.


And they returned along the conservatory without farther interpretation.


She then proposed to go and sit down in her old place, and they walked among scattered couples preparing for the waltz to the spot where Mrs. Davilow had been seated all the evening. As they approached it her seat was vacant, but she was coming toward it again, and, to Gwendolen's shuddering annoyance, with Mr. Lush at her elbow.

She proposed to go and sit down in her old place by Mrs. Davilow; but as they approached, she saw, to her shuddering annoyance, that Mr. Lush stood at her mother's elbow.


There was no avoiding the confrontation: her mamma came close to her before they had reached the seats, and, after a quiet greeting smile, said innocently, "Gwendolen, dear, let me present Mr. Lush to you."

There was no avoiding the confrontation: her mamma said innocently, "Gwendolen, dear, let me present Mr. Lush to you."


Having just made the acquaintance of this personage, as an intimate and constant companion of Mr. Grandcourt's, Mrs. Davilow imagined it altogether desirable that her daughter also should make the acquaintance.

Having just made the acquaintance of this intimate companion of Mr. Grandcourt's, Mrs. Davilow imagined it altogether desirable that her daughter also should meet him.


It was hardly a bow that Gwendolen gave--rather, it was the slightest forward sweep of the head away from the physiognomy that inclined itself toward her, and she immediately moved toward her seat, saying, "I want to put on my burnous."

It was hardly a bow that Gwendolen gave - rather, it was the slightest sweep of the head away from him. She immediately moved toward her seat, saying, "I want to put on my cloak."


No sooner had she reached it, than Mr. Lush was there, and had the burnous in his hand: to annoy this supercilious young lady, he would incur the offense of forestalling Grandcourt; and, holding up the garment close to Gwendolen, he said, "Pray, permit me?"

No sooner had she reached it, than Mr. Lush was there with the cloak in his hand, willing to risk forestalling Grandcourt for the sake of annoying this supercilious young lady. Holding up the garment, he said, "Pray, permit me?"


But she, wheeling away from him as if he had been a muddy hound, glided on to the ottoman, saying, "No, thank you."

But she wheeled away, saying, "No, thank you."


A man who forgave this would have much Christian feeling, supposing he had intended to be agreeable to the young lady; but before he seized the burnous Mr. Lush had ceased to have that intention.

A man who forgave this would have much Christian feeling, supposing he had intended to be agreeable to the young lady; but Mr. Lush had no such intention.


Grandcourt quietly took the drapery from him, and Mr. Lush, with a slight bow, moved away.

Grandcourt quietly took the cloak from him, and Mr. Lush, with a slight bow, moved away.


"You had perhaps better put it on," said Mr. Grandcourt, looking down on her without change of expression.


"Thanks; perhaps it would be wise," said Gwendolen, rising, and submitting very gracefully to take the burnous on her shoulders.

"Thanks; perhaps it would be wise," said Gwendolen, rising, and submitting very gracefully.


After that, Mr. Grandcourt exchanged a few polite speeches with Mrs. Davilow, and, in taking leave, asked permission to call at Offendene the next day. He was evidently not offended by the insult directed toward his friend.

In taking leave, Mr. Grandcourt asked permission to call at Offendene the next day, evidently not offended by the insult to his friend.


Certainly Gwendolen's refusal of the burnous from Mr. Lush was open to the interpretation that she wished to receive it from Mr. Grandcourt.

Certainly Gwendolen's refusal of the cloak from Mr. Lush was open to the interpretation that she wished to receive it from Mr. Grandcourt.


But she, poor child, had no design in this action, and was simply following her antipathy and inclination, confiding in them as she did in the more reflective judgments into which they entered as sap into leafage.

But she, poor child, was simply following her antipathy, without any such design.


Gwendolen had no sense that these men were dark enigmas to her, or that she needed any help in drawing conclusions about them--Mr. Grandcourt at least.

Gwendolen had no sense that these men were dark enigmas to her - Mr. Grandcourt at least.


The chief question was, how far his character and ways might answer her wishes; and unless she were satisfied about that, she had said to herself that she would not accept his offer.

The chief question was, how far he might answer her wishes; and unless she were satisfied about that, she would not accept his offer.


Could there be a slenderer, more insignificant thread in human history than this consciousness of a girl, busy with her small inferences of the way in which she could make her life pleasant?--in a time, too, when ideas were with fresh vigor making armies of themselves, and the universal kinship was declaring itself fiercely; when women on the other side of the world would not mourn for the husbands and sons who died bravely in a common cause, and men stinted of bread on our side of the world heard of that willing loss and were patient: a time when the soul of man was walking to pulses which had for centuries been beating in him unfelt, until their full sum made a new life of terror or of joy.


What in the midst of that mighty drama are girls and their blind visions?


They are the Yea or Nay of that good for which men are enduring and fighting.


In these delicate vessels is borne onward through the ages the treasure of human affections.


"Das Gluck ist eine leichte Dirne, Und weilt nicht gern am selben Ort; Sie streicht das Haar dir von der Stirne Und kusst dich rasch und flattert fort


Frau Ungluck hat im Gegentheile Dich liebefest an's Herz gedruckt; Sie sagt, sie habe keine Eile, Setzt sich zu dir an's Bett und strickt."


Something which Mirah had lately been watching for as the fulfilment of a threat, seemed now the continued visit of that familiar sorrow which had lately come back, bringing abundant luggage.

Something which Mirah had lately been watching for now came about.


Turning out of Knightsbridge, after singing at a charitable morning concert in a wealthy house, where she had been recommended by Klesmer, and where there had been the usual groups outside to see the departing company, she began to feel herself dogged by footsteps that kept an even pace with her own.

Turning out of Knightsbridge after singing at a charitable morning concert, she began to feel herself dogged by footsteps that kept pace with her own.


Her concert dress being simple black, over which she had thrown a dust cloak, could not make her an object of unpleasant attention, and render walking an imprudence; but this reflection did not occur to Mirah: another kind of alarm lay uppermost in her mind.


She immediately thought of her father, and could no more look round than if she had felt herself tracked by a ghost.


To turn and face him would be voluntarily to meet the rush of emotions which beforehand seemed intolerable.


If it were her father he must mean to claim recognition, and he would oblige her to face him.


She walked on, not quickening her pace--of what use was that?--but picturing what was about to happen as if she had the full certainty that the man behind her was her father; and along with her picturing went a regret that she had given her word to Mrs. Meyrick not to use any concealment about him.

She walked on, not quickening her pace - of what use was that? - but certain that the man behind her was her father.


The regret at last urged her, at least, to try and hinder any sudden betrayal that would cause her brother an unnecessary shock. Under the pressure of this motive, she resolved to turn before she reached her own door, and firmly will the encounter instead of merely submitting to it.

Hoping to prevent any unnecessary shock for her brother, she resolved to turn to meet her father before she reached her door.


She had already reached the entrance of the small square where her home lay, and had made up her mind to turn, when she felt her embodied presentiment getting closer to her, then slipping to her side, grasping her wrist, and saying, with a persuasive curl of accent, "Mirah!"

She came to the entrance of the small square where her home lay, but before she could turn she felt him grasping her wrist, and saying, with a persuasive curl of accent, "Mirah!"


She paused at once without any start; it was the voice she expected, and she was meeting the expected eyes.

She paused without any start; it was the voice she expected.


Her face was as grave as if she had been looking at her executioner, while his was adjusted to the intention of soothing and propitiating her.

Her face was as grave as if she were looking at her executioner, while his had a propitiating expression.


Once a handsome face, with bright color, it was now sallow and deep-lined, and had that peculiar impress of impudent suavity which comes from courting favor while accepting disrespect.

Once a handsome face, it was now sallow and deep-lined, with an impudent suavity.


He was lightly made and active, with something of youth about him which made the signs of age seem a disguise; and in reality he was hardly fifty-seven.

He was lightly made and active, with something youthful about him which made the signs of age seem a disguise.


His dress was shabby, as when she had seen him before. The presence of this unreverend father now, more than ever, affected Mirah with the mingled anguish of shame and grief, repulsion and pity--more than ever, now that her own world was changed into one where there was no comradeship to fence him from scorn and contempt.

His dress was shabby, and Mirah felt mingled shame and grief, repulsion and pity.


Slowly, with a sad, tremulous voice, she said, "It is you, father."


he began with rapid speech which was meant to have a tone of tender remonstrance, accompanied with various quick gestures like an abbreviated finger-language.

he began with rapid speech which was meant to have a tone of tender remonstrance.


You knew I never made you do anything against your will.


It was for your sake I broke up your engagement in the Vorstadt, because I saw it didn't suit you, and you repaid me by leaving me to the bad times that came in consequence.

I broke up your engagement in the Vorstadt because I saw it didn't suit you, and you repaid me by leaving me.


I had made an easier engagement for you at the Vorstadt Theater in Dresden: I didn't tell you, because I wanted to take you by surprise.

I had made an easier engagement for you: I didn't tell you, because I wanted to surprise you.


And you left me planted there--obliged to make myself scarce because I had broken contract. That was hard lines for me, after I had given up everything for the sake of getting you an education which was to be a fortune to you.

And you left me planted there, after I had given up everything for the sake of getting you an education.


What father devoted himself to his daughter more than I did to you?

What father devoted himself to his daughter more than I did?


You know how I bore that disappointment in your voice, and made the best of it: and when I had nobody besides you, and was getting broken, as a man must who has had to fight his way with his brains--you chose that time to leave me.

You know how I bore that disappointment in your voice, and made the best of it: and when I had nobody besides you, you chose to leave me.


Who else was it you owed everything to, if not to me?

Who else did you owe everything to, if not to me?


For what my daughter cared, I might have died in a ditch."


Lapidoth stopped short here, not from lack of invention, but because he had reached a pathetic climax, and gave a sudden sob, like a woman's, taking out hastily an old yellow silk handkerchief.

Lapidoth stopped short here, not from lack of invention, but because he had reached a pathetic climax, and gave a sudden sob, taking out an old yellow silk handkerchief.


He really felt that his daughter had treated him ill--a sort of sensibility which is naturally strong in unscrupulous persons, who put down what is owing to them, without any _per contra_.

He really felt that his daughter had treated him ill - a sort of feeling which is strong in unscrupulous persons.


Mirah, in spite of that sob, had energy enough not to let him suppose that he deceived her. She answered more firmly, though it was the first time she had ever used accusing words to him.

Mirah, despite that sob, answered firmly, though it was the first time she had ever used accusing words to him.


"You know why I left you, father; and I had reason to distrust you, because I felt sure that you had deceived my mother."


If I could have trusted you, I would have stayed with you and worked for you."


"I never meant to deceive your mother, Mirah," said Lapidoth, putting back his handkerchief, but beginning with a voice that seemed to struggle against further sobbing.

"I never meant to deceive your mother, Mirah," said Lapidoth, with a voice that struggled against further sobs.


"I meant to take you back to her, but chances hindered me just at the time, and then there came information of her death. It was better for you that I should stay where I was, and your brother could take care of himself. Nobody had any claim on me but you. I had word of your mother's death from a particular friend, who had undertaken to manage things for me, and I sent him over money to pay expenses.

"I meant to take you back to her, but then I had word of her death from a particular friend, and I sent him money to pay necessary expenses.


There's one chance to be sure--" Lapidoth had quickly conceived that he must guard against something unlikely, yet possible--"he may have written me lies for the sake of getting the money out of me."

To be sure-" Lapidoth had quickly conceived that he must guard against something unlikely, yet possible - "he may have written me lies for the sake of getting money out of me."


Mirah made no answer; she could not bear to utter the only true one--"I don't believe one word of what you say"--and she simply showed a wish that they should walk on, feeling that their standing still might draw down unpleasant notice.

Mirah made no answer; she could not bear to utter the only true one - "I don't believe one word you say" - and she simply walked on.


Even as they walked along, their companionship might well have made a passer-by turn back to look at them. The figure of Mirah, with her beauty set off by the quiet, careful dress of an English lady, made a strange pendant to this shabby, foreign-looking, eager, and gesticulating man, who withal had an ineffaceable jauntiness of air, perhaps due to the bushy curls of his grizzled hair, the smallness of his hands and feet, and his light walk.

They might well have caused passers-by to turn to look at them: the figure of Mirah, with her beauty set off by the quiet, careful dress of an English lady, made a strange pendant to this shabby, foreign-looking, eagerly gesticulating man, with his light, jaunty walk.


"You seem to have done well for yourself, Mirah?


_You_ are in no want, I see," said the father, looking at her with emphatic examination.


"Good friends who found me in distress have helped me to get work," said Mirah, hardly knowing what she actually said, from being occupied with what she would presently have to say. "I give lessons.

"Good friends who found me in distress have helped me to get work," said Mirah, "I give lessons.


I have just been singing at a private concert."


She paused, and then added, with significance, "I have very good friends, who know all about me."


"And you would be ashamed they should see your father in this plight?


I came to England with no prospect, but the chance of finding you.


It was a mad quest; but a father's heart is superstitious--feels a loadstone drawing it somewhere or other.

It was a mad quest; but a father's heart is superstitious.


I might have done very well, staying abroad: when I hadn't you to take care of, I could have rolled or settled as easily as a ball; but it's hard being lonely in the world, when your spirit's beginning to break.

I might have done very well, staying abroad: but it's hard being lonely in the world, when your spirit's beginning to break.


And I thought my little Mirah would repent leaving her father when she came to look back.


I've had a sharp pinch to work my way; I don't know what I shall come down to next.


Talents like mine are no use in this country.


When a man's getting out at elbows nobody will believe in him.


I couldn't get any decent employ with my appearance.


I've been obliged to get pretty low for a shilling already."


Mirah's anxiety was quick enough to imagine her father's sinking into a further degradation, which she was bound to hinder if she could.

Mirah anxiously imagined her father's sinking into further degradation, which she was bound to prevent if she could.


But before she could answer his string of inventive sentences, delivered with as much glibness as if they had been learned by rote, he added promptly,


"Yes," said Mirah again, looking full at the keen face which was turned toward hers--"my brother."

"Yes," said Mirah again, looking full at the keen face - "my brother."


The father's eyelids fluttered as if the lightning had come across them, and there was a slight movement of the shoulders.

The father's eyelids fluttered, and there was a slight movement of the shoulders.


But he said, after a just perceptible pause: "Ezra?

But he said, after a brief pause: "Ezra?


How did you know--how did you find him?"


My brother would not wish me to close it on you."


Mirah was already on the doorstep, but had her face turned toward her father, who stood below her on the pavement.


Her heart had begun to beat faster with the prospect of what was coming in the presence of Ezra; and already in this attitude of giving leave to the father whom she had been used to obey--in this sight of him standing below her, with a perceptible shrinking from the admission which he had been indirectly asking for, she had a pang of the peculiar, sympathetic humiliation and shame--the stabbed heart of reverence--which belongs to a nature intensely filial.

Mirah's heart had begun to beat faster with the prospect of what was coming in the presence of Ezra; and she had a pang of the sympathetic humiliation and shame - the stabbed heart of reverence - which belongs to a nature intensely filial.


"Stay a minute, _Liebchen_," said Lapidoth, speaking in a lowered tone; "what sort of man has Ezra turned out?"

"Stay a minute, Liebchen," said Lapidoth; "what sort of man has Ezra turned out?"


"A good man--a wonderful man," said Mirah, with slow emphasis, trying to master the agitation which made her voice more tremulous as she went on.

"A good man - a wonderful man," said Mirah, with slow emphasis, trying to master her agitation.


She felt urged to prepare her father for the complete penetration of himself which awaited him.

She felt urged to prepare her father for the penetration of himself which awaited him.


"But he was very poor when my friends found him for me--a poor workman.

"But he was very poor when my friends found him.


Once--twelve years ago--he was strong and happy, going to the East, which he loved to think of; and my mother called him back because--because she had lost me.

Once - twelve years ago - he was strong and happy, going to the East; and my mother called him back because she had lost me.


And he went to her, and took care of her through great trouble, and worked for her till she died--died in grief.

And he went to her, and took care of her, and worked for her till she died in grief.


And Ezra, too, had lost his health and strength.


The cold had seized him coming back to my mother, because she was forsaken.


For years he has been getting weaker--always poor, always working--but full of knowledge, and great-minded.

For years he has been getting weaker - always poor, always working - but full of knowledge, and great-minded.


To stand before him is like standing before a prophet of God"--Mirah ended with difficulty, her heart throbbing--"falsehoods are no use."

To stand before him is like standing before a prophet of God"- Mirah ended with difficulty, her heart throbbing- "falsehoods are no use."


She had cast down her eyes that she might not see her father while she spoke the last words--unable to bear the ignoble look of frustration that gathered in his face.

She had cast down her eyes while she spoke, unable to bear the ignoble look of frustration in his face.


But he was none the less quick in invention and decision.


"Mirah, _Liebchen_," he said, in the old caressing way, "shouldn't you like me to make myself a little more respectable before my son sees me?

"Mirah, Liebchen," he said, in the old caressing way, "shouldn't you like me to make myself a little more respectable before my son sees me?


If I had a little sum of money, I could fit myself out and come home to you as your father ought, and then I could offer myself for some decent place. With a good shirt and coat on my back, people would be glad enough to have me.

If I had a little money, I could fit myself out decently with a good coat, and find work.


I could offer myself for a courier, if I didn't look like a broken-down mountebank.


I should like to be with my children, and forget and forgive.


But you have never seen your father look like this before.


If you had ten pounds at hand--or I could appoint you to bring it me somewhere--I could fit myself out by the day after to-morrow."

If you had ten pounds at hand, I could fit myself out by the day after tomorrow."


Mirah felt herself under a temptation which she must try to overcome. She answered, obliging herself to look at him again,


"I don't like to deny you what you ask, father; but I have given a promise not to do things for you in secret.


It _is_ hard to see you looking needy; but we will bear that for a little while; and then you can have new clothes, and we can pay for them."

It is hard to see you looking needy; but we will bear that for a little while; and then we can pay for new clothes."


Her practical sense made her see now what was Mrs. Meyrick's wisdom in exacting a promise from her.

Her practical sense made her now see Mrs. Meyrick's wisdom in exacting a promise from her.


Lapidoth's good humor gave way a little.

Lapidoth's good humour gave way a little.


He said, with a sneer, "You are a hard and fast young lady--you have been learning useful virtues--keeping promises not to help your father with a pound or two when you are getting money to dress yourself in silk--your father who made an idol of you, and gave up the best part of his life to providing for you."

He said, with a sneer, "You are a hard and fast young lady - you have been learning useful virtues - promising not to help your father with a pound or two when you dress yourself in silk - your father who gave up the best part of his life to providing for you."


"It seems cruel--I know it seems cruel," said Mirah, feeling this a worse moment than when she meant to drown herself.

"I know it seems cruel," said Mirah, pale, and feeling this a worse moment than when she meant to drown herself.


"But, father, it is more cruel to break the promises people trust in.


That broke my mother's heart--it has broken Ezra's life.

That broke my mother's heart - it has broken Ezra's life.


You and I must eat now this bitterness from what has been.


Bear to come in and be cared for as you are."


"To-morrow, then," said Lapidoth, almost turning on his heel away from this pale, trembling daughter, who seemed now to have got the inconvenient world to back her; but he quickly turned on it again, with his hands feeling about restlessly in his pockets, and said, with some return to his appealing tone, "I'm a little cut up with all this, Mirah.

"Tomorrow, then," said Lapidoth, almost turning away from this trembling daughter, who seemed now to have got the inconvenient world to back her; but he quickly turned again, and said in his appealing tone, "I'm a little cut up with all this, Mirah.


If you've a little money in your pocket, I suppose it isn't against your promise to give me a trifle--to buy a cigar with."

If you've a little money in your pocket, I suppose it isn't against your promise to give me a trifle - to buy a cigar with."


Mirah could not ask herself another question--could not do anything else than put her cold trembling hands in her pocket for her _portemonnaie_ and hold it out.

Mirah could not do anything else than put her cold trembling hands in her pocket for her purse and hold it out.


Lapidoth grasped it at once, pressed her fingers the while, said, "Good-bye, my little girl--to-morrow then!"

Lapidoth grasped it, pressing her fingers, said, "Good-bye, my little girl - tomorrow then!"


He had not taken many steps before he looked carefully into all the folds of the purse, found two half-sovereigns and odd silver, and, pasted against the folding cover, a bit of paper on which Ezra had inscribed, in a beautiful Hebrew character, the name of his mother, the days of her birth, marriage, and death, and the prayer, "May Mirah be delivered from evil."

He had not taken many steps before he looked carefully into the purse, found two half-sovereigns and odd silver, and, pasted against the cover, a bit of paper on which Ezra had inscribed, in a beautiful Hebrew character, the name of his mother, the days of her birth, marriage, and death, and the prayer, "May Mirah be delivered from evil."


It was Mirah's liking to have this little inscription on many articles that she used.

Mirah liked to have this little inscription on many articles that she used.


The father read it, and had a quick vision of his marriage day, and the bright, unblamed young fellow he was at that time; teaching many things, but expecting by-and-by to get money more easily by writing; and very fond of his beautiful bride Sara--crying when she expected him to cry, and reflecting every phase of her feeling with mimetic susceptibility.

The father read it, and had a quick vision of his marriage day, and the bright, unblamed young fellow he was at that time; very fond of his beautiful bride Sara - crying when she expected him to cry, and reflecting every phase of her feeling with perfect mimicry.


Lapidoth had traveled a long way from that young self, and thought of all that this inscription signified with an unemotional memory, which was like the ocular perception of a touch to one who has lost the sense of touch, or like morsels on an untasting palate, having shape and grain, but no flavor.

Lapidoth had travelled a long way from that young self, and remembered this without emotion, like a morsel of food which had no taste to him.


Among the things we may gamble away in a lazy selfish life is the capacity for ruth, compunction, or any unselfish regret--which we may come to long for as one in slow death longs to feel laceration, rather than be conscious of a widening margin where consciousness once was.

Among the things we may gamble away in a lazy selfish life is the capacity for pity, compunction, or unselfish regret - which we may come to long for as one in slow death longs to feel pain, rather than a widening space where consciousness once was.


Mirah's purse was a handsome one--a gift to her, which she had been unable to reflect about giving away--and Lapidoth presently found himself outside of his reverie, considering what the purse would fetch in addition to the sum it contained, and what prospect there was of his being able to get more from his daughter without submitting to adopt a penitential form of life under the eyes of that formidable son.

Mirah's purse was a handsome one, and Lapidoth found himself considering what it would fetch in addition to the sum it contained, and what prospect there was of his being able to get more from his daughter without submitting to penance under the eyes of that formidable son.


On such a subject his susceptibilities were still lively.


Meanwhile Mirah had entered the house with her power of reticence overcome by the cruelty of her pain.

Meanwhile Mirah was overcome by her pain.


She found her brother quietly reading and sifting old manuscripts of his own, which he meant to consign to Deronda. In the reaction from the long effort to master herself, she fell down before him and clasped his knees, sobbing, and crying, "Ezra, Ezra!"

She found her brother quietly sifting old manuscripts which he meant to give to Deronda, and fell down and clasped his knees, sobbing, and crying, "Ezra, Ezra!"


He did not speak. His alarm for her spending itself on conceiving the cause of her distress, the more striking from the novelty in her of this violent manifestation.

He did not speak, though he was stricken with alarm.


But Mirah's own longing was to be able to speak and tell him the cause. Presently she raised her hand, and still sobbing, said brokenly,

But presently she raised her head, and said brokenly-


And he said No, he would not--not now, but to-morrow.

And he said No, he would not now, but tomorrow.


And I gave him my purse, and he went away."


Mirah's words seemed to herself to express all the misery she felt in them. Her brother found them less grievous than his preconceptions, and said gently, "Wait for calm, Mirah, and then tell me all,"--putting off her hat and laying his hands tenderly on her head.

Although Mirah's words expressed all her misery, her brother found them less grievous than his preconceptions, and said gently, "Wait for calm, Mirah, and then tell me all," laying his hands tenderly on her head.


She felt the soothing influence, and in a few minutes told him as exactly as she could all that had happened.

Under this soothing influence, she told him what had happened.


"He will not come to-morrow," said Mordecai.

"He will not come tomorrow," said Mordecai.


Neither of them said to the other what they both thought, namely, that he might watch for Mirah's outgoings and beg from her again.

Neither of them said to the other what they both thought, namely, that he might watch for Mirah and beg from her again.


"Seest thou," he presently added, "our lot is the lot of Israel.


The grief and the glory are mingled as the smoke and the flame.


It is because we children have inherited the good that we feel the evil.


These things are wedded for us, as our father was wedded to our mother."


The surroundings were of Brompton, but the voice might have come from a Rabbi transmitting the sentences of an elder time to be registered in _Babli_--by which (to our ears) affectionate-sounding diminutive is meant the voluminous Babylonian Talmud.

The surroundings were of Brompton, but the voice might have come from a Rabbi.


"The Omnipresent," said a Rabbi, "is occupied in making marriages."


The levity of the saying lies in the ear of him who hears it; for by marriages the speaker meant all the wondrous combinations of the universe whose issue makes our good and evil.

It is said, "God is occupied in making marriages": whereby are meant all the wondrous combinations of the universe whose issue makes our good and evil.


"If some mortal, born too soon, Were laid away in some great trance--the ages Coming and going all the while--till dawned His true time's advent; and could then record The words they spoke who kept watch by his bed, Then I might tell more of the breath so light Upon my eyelids, and the fingers warm Among my hair.


Youth is confused; yet never So dull was I but, when that spirit passed, I turned to him, scarce consciously, as turns A water-snake when fairies cross his sleep."


This was the letter which Sir Hugo put into Deronda's hands:,

This was the letter which Sir Hugo gave to Deronda:-


My good friend and yours, Sir Hugo Mallinger, will have told you that I wish to see you.

'My good friend, Sir Hugo Mallinger, will have told you that I wish to see you.


My health is shaken, and I desire there should be no time lost before I deliver to you what I have long withheld.

My health is shaken, and I desire to lose no time before I deliver to you what I have long withheld.


Let nothing hinder you from being at the _Albergo dell' Italia_ in Genoa by the fourteenth of this month.

Be at the Albergo dell' Italia in Genoa by the fourteenth of this month.


I am uncertain when I shall be able to make the journey from Spezia, where I shall be staying.


Wait for me--the Princess Halm-Eberstein.

Wait for me: the Princess Halm-Eberstein.


Bring with you the diamond ring that Sir Hugo gave you.


I shall like to see it again.--Your unknown mother,

I shall like to see it again. Your unknown mother,


This letter with its colorless wording gave Deronda no clue to what was in reserve for him; but he could not do otherwise than accept Sir Hugo's reticence, which seemed to imply some pledge not to anticipate the mother's disclosures; and the discovery that his life-long conjectures had been mistaken checked further surmise.

This letter with its colourless wording gave Deronda no clue to what awaited him.


Deronda could not hinder his imagination from taking a quick flight over what seemed possibilities, but he refused to contemplate any of them as more likely than another, lest he should be nursing it into a dominant desire or repugnance, instead of simply preparing himself with resolve to meet the fact bravely, whatever it might turn out to be.

He could not help imagining possibilities, but he refused to regard any of them as likely. He simply attempted to prepare himself to meet the fact bravely, whatever it might turn out to be.


In this state of mind he could not have communicated to any one the reason for the absence which in some quarters he was obliged to mention beforehand, least of all to Mordecai, whom it would affect as powerfully as it did himself, only in rather a different way.

He could not tell anyone the reason for his absence, least of all Mordecai, whom it would affect as powerfully as it did himself, only in a different way.


If he were to say, "I am going to learn the truth about my birth," Mordecai's hope would gather what might prove a painful, dangerous excitement.

If he were to say, "I am going to learn the truth about my birth," Mordecai's hopes might be dangerously excited.


To exclude suppositions, he spoke of his journey as being undertaken by Sir Hugo's wish, and threw as much indifference as he could into his manner of announcing it, saying he was uncertain of its duration, but it would perhaps be very short.

So he spoke of his journey as being undertaken by Sir Hugo's wish, with as much indifference and vagueness as he could.


"I will ask to have the child Jacob to stay with me," said Mordecai, comforting himself in this way, after the first mournful glances.

"I will ask to have the child Jacob to stay with me," said Mordecai.


"I will drive round and ask Mrs. Cohen to let him come," said Mirah.

"I will ask Mrs. Cohen to let him come," said Mirah.


"The grandmother will deny you nothing," said Deronda.


"I'm glad you were a little wrong as well as I," he added, smiling at Mordecai.

"I'm glad you were wrong," he added, smiling at Mordecai.


"You thought that old Mrs. Cohen would not bear to see Mirah."


"I undervalued her heart," said Mordecai.


"She is capable of rejoicing that another's plant blooms though her own be withered."


"Oh, they are dear good people; I feel as if we all belonged to each other," said Mirah, with a tinge of merriment in her smile.

"Oh, they are dear good people; I feel as if we all belonged to each other," said Mirah, with merriment.


"What should you have felt if that Ezra had been your brother?"


said Deronda, mischievously--a little provoked that she had taken kindly at once to people who had caused him so much prospective annoyance on her account.


Mirah looked at him with a slight surprise for a moment, and then said, "He is not a bad man--I think he would never forsake any one."

Mirah looked at him with slight surprise, and said, "He is not a bad man - I think he would never forsake anyone."


But when she uttered the words she blushed deeply, and glancing timidly at Mordecai, turned away to some occupation. Her father was in her mind, and this was a subject on which she and her brother had a painful mutual consciousness.

Then she blushed deeply, glancing timidly at Mordecai: her father was in her mind.


was a thought which to Mirah sometimes made the street daylight as shadowy as a haunted forest where each turn screened for her an imaginary apparition.

was a thought which sometimes haunted Mirah.


Deronda felt what was her involuntary allusion, and understood the blush. How could he be slow to understand feelings which now seemed nearer than ever to his own?

Deronda understood the blush, for her feelings about her parent seemed near to his own.


for the words of his mother's letter implied that his filial relation was not to be freed from painful conditions; indeed, singularly enough that letter which had brought his mother nearer as a living reality had thrown her into more remoteness for his affections.

That letter which had brought his mother nearer in reality had made her more remote in his affections.


The tender yearning after a being whose life might have been the worse for not having his care and love, the image of a mother who had not had all her dues, whether of reverence or compassion, had long been secretly present with him in his observation of all the women he had come near.

The tender yearning after an imagined mother had long been secretly present within him in his observation of all women.


But it seemed now that this picturing of his mother might fit the facts no better than his former conceptions about Sir Hugo. He wondered to find that when this mother's very hand-writing had come to him with words holding her actual feeling, his affections had suddenly shrunk into a state of comparative neutrality toward her. A veiled figure with enigmatic speech had thrust away that image which, in spite of uncertainty, his clinging thought had gradually modeled and made the possessor of his tenderness and duteous longing.

But it seemed now that this picture of his mother might not fit the facts: her enigmatic letter had thrust away that image created by his longing.


When he set off to Genoa, the interest really uppermost in his mind had hardly so much relation to his mother as to Mordecai and Mirah.


Sir Hugo had said, when they shook hands.


"Whatever else changes for you, it can't change my being the oldest friend you have known, and the one who has all along felt the most for you.


I couldn't have loved you better if you'd been my own--only I should have been better pleased with thinking of you always as the future master of the Abbey instead of my fine nephew; and then you would have seen it necessary for you to take a political line.


It was a defensive movement of the baronet's to mingle purposeless remarks with the expression of serious feeling.


When Deronda arrived at the _Italia_ in Genoa, no Princess Halm-Eberstein was there; but on the second day there was a letter for him, saying that her arrival might happen within a week, or might be deferred a fortnight and more; she was under circumstances which made it impossible for her to fix her journey more precisely, and she entreated him to wait as patiently as he could.

When Deronda arrived at the Italia in Genoa, no Princess Halm-Eberstein was there; but there was a letter for him, saying that she might arrive within a week or two, and entreating him to wait patiently.


With this indefinite prospect of suspense on matters of supreme moment to him, Deronda set about the difficult task of seeking amusement on philosophic grounds, as a means of quieting excited feeling and giving patience a lift over a weary road.

Under this suspense, Deronda set about the difficult task of seeking amusement as a means of quieting his excitement and giving patience a lift over a weary road.


His former visit to the superb city had been only cursory, and left him much to learn beyond the prescribed round of sight-seeing, by spending the cooler hours in observant wandering about the streets, the quay, and the environs; and he often took a boat that he might enjoy the magnificent view of the city and harbor from the sea.

He spent the cooler hours in wandering about to observe the streets and the quay; and he often took a boat to enjoy the magnificent view of the city from the sea.


All sights, all subjects, even the expected meeting with his mother, found a central union in Mordecai and Mirah, and the ideas immediately associated with them; and among the thoughts that most filled his mind while his boat was pushing about within view of the grand harbor was that of the multitudinous Spanish Jews centuries ago driven destitute from their Spanish homes, suffered to land from the crowded ships only for a brief rest on this grand quay of Genoa, overspreading it with a pall of famine and plague--dying mothers and dying children at their breasts--fathers and sons a-gaze at each other's haggardness, like groups from a hundred Hunger-towers turned out beneath the midday sun.

Mordecai and Mirah were ever-present in his thoughts; and while his boat was pushing about within view of the grand harbour, he imagined the multitudinous Spanish Jews centuries ago, driven destitute and starving from their homes into crowded ships, and allowed only a brief rest on this grand quay of Genoa.


Inevitably dreamy constructions of a possible ancestry for himself would weave themselves with historic memories which had begun to have a new interest for him on his discovery of Mirah, and now, under the influence of Mordecai, had become irresistibly dominant.

Inevitably, dreamy constructions of his possible ancestry would weave themselves with this history, which had acquired a new interest for him since meeting Mirah and Mordecai.


He would have sealed his mind against such constructions if it had been possible, and he had never yet fully admitted to himself that he wished the facts to verify Mordecai's conviction: he inwardly repeated that he had no choice in the matter, and that wishing was folly--nay, on the question of parentage, wishing seemed part of that meanness which disowns kinship: it was a disowning by anticipation.

He had never yet fully admitted to himself that he wished the facts to verify Mordecai's conviction: he inwardly repeated that he had no choice in the matter, and that wishing was folly.


What he had to do was simply to accept the fact; and he had really no strong presumption to go upon, now that he was assured of his mistake about Sir Hugo.


There had been a resolved concealment which made all inference untrustworthy, and the very name he bore might be a false one.


If Mordecai was wrong--if he, the so-called Daniel Deronda, were held by ties entirely aloof from any such course as his friend's pathetic hope had marked out?--he would not say "I wish"; but he could not help feeling on which side the sacrifice lay.


Across these two importunate thoughts, which he resisted as much as one can resist anything in that unstrung condition which belongs to suspense, there came continually an anxiety which he made no effort to banish--dwelling on it rather with a mournfulness, which often seems to us the best atonement we can make to one whose need we have been unable to meet.

Across these thoughts, there came continually another anxiety which he made no effort to banish. Rather, he dwelt on it with a mournfulness which often seems to us the best atonement we can make to one whom we have been unable to help.


In the wonderful mixtures of our nature there is a feeling distinct from that exclusive passionate love of which some men and women (by no means all) are capable, which yet is not the same with friendship, nor with a merely benevolent regard, whether admiring or compassionate: a man, say--for it is a man who is here concerned--hardly represents to himself this shade of feeling toward a woman more nearly than in words, "I should have loved her, if----": the "if" covering some prior growth in the inclinations, or else some circumstances which have made an inward prohibitory law as a stay against the emotions ready to quiver out of balance.

His feeling for her was not passionate love, yet was not the same as friendship, or a merely benevolent regard. A man may express this feeling in the words, "I should have loved her, if": the "if" covering some circumstance set against the emotions ready to quiver out of balance.


The "if" in Deronda's case carried reasons of both kinds; yet he had never throughout his relations with Gwendolen been free from the nervous consciousness that there was something to guard against not only on her account but on his own--some precipitancy in the manifestations of impulsive feeling--some ruinous inroad of what is but momentary on the permanent chosen treasure of the heart--some spoiling of her trust, which wrought upon him now as if it had been the retreating cry of a creature snatched and carried out of his reach by swift horsemen or swifter waves, while his own strength was only a stronger sense of weakness.

Deronda had never throughout his relations with Gwendolen been free from the nervous consciousness that there was something to guard against, not only on her account but on his own - that any impulsive action on his part would ruin her trust in him, which worked upon him now like the retreating cry of a creature snatched and carried out of his reach.


How could his feelings for Gwendolen ever be exactly like his feelings for other women, even when there was one by whose side he desired to stand apart from them?

How could his feelings for Gwendolen ever be exactly like his feelings for other women, even when there was one by whose side he desired to stand?


Strangely the figure entered into the pictures of his present and future; strangely (and now it seemed sadly) their two lots had come in contact, hers narrowly personal, his charged with far-reaching sensibilities, perhaps with durable purposes, which were hardly more present to her than the reasons why men migrate are present to the birds that come as usual for the crumbs and find them no more.


Not that Deronda was too ready to imagine himself of supreme importance to a woman; but her words of insistence that he must "remain near her--must not forsake her"--continually recurred to him with the clearness and importunity of imagined sounds, such as Dante has said pierce us like arrows whose points carry the sharpness of pity,

Although Deronda did not imagine himself to be of supreme importance to any woman, Gwendolen's insistence that he must "remain near her - must not forsake her" continually recurred to him with piercing clearness.


"Lamenti saettaron me diversi Che di pieta ferrati avean gli strali".


Day after day passed, and the very air of Italy seemed to carry the consciousness that war had been declared against Austria, and every day was a hurrying march of crowded Time toward the world-changing battle of Sadowa. Meanwhile, in Genoa, the noons were getting hotter, the converging outer roads getting deeper with white dust, the oleanders in the tubs along the wayside gardens looking more and more like fatigued holiday-makers, and the sweet evening changing her office--scattering abroad those whom the midday had sent under shelter, and sowing all paths with happy social sounds, little tinklings of mule-bells and whirrings of thrumbed strings, light footsteps and voices, if not leisurely, then with the hurry of pleasure in them; while the encircling heights, crowned with forts, skirted with fine dwellings and gardens, seemed also to come forth and gaze in fullness of beauty after their long siesta, till all strong color melted in the stream of moonlight which made the Streets a new spectacle with shadows, both still and moving, on cathedral steps and against the faades of massive palaces; and then slowly with the descending moon all sank in deep night and silence, and nothing shone but the port lights of the great Lanterna in the blackness below, and the glimmering stars in the blackness above.

Day after day passed, and in Genoa, the noons were getting hotter, the outer roads getting deeper with white dust, the oleanders in the tubs along the wayside gardens looking more and more like fatigued holiday-makers, and the sweet evening sowing the paths with happy tinklings of mule-bells and thrumming of strings, light footsteps and voices; while the encircling heights, crowned with forts, skirted with gardens, seemed to come forth in fullness of beauty after their long siesta, till all strong colour melted in the moonlight. Then slowly with the descending moon all sank in deep night and silence, and nothing shone but the port lights of the great Lanterna in the blackness below, and the glimmering stars in the blackness above.


Deronda, in his suspense, watched this revolving of the days as he might have watched a wonderful clock where the striking of the hours was made solemn with antique figures advancing and retreating in monitory procession, while he still kept his ear open for another kind of signal which would have its solemnity too: He was beginning to sicken of occupation, and found himself contemplating all activity with the aloofness of a prisoner awaiting ransom.

Deronda, in his suspense, watched this revolving of the days as he might have watched a wonderful antique clock, and found himself contemplating all activity with the aloofness of a prisoner awaiting ransom.


In his letters to Mordecai and Hans, he had avoided writing about himself, but he was really getting into that state of mind to which all subjects become personal; and the few books he had brought to make him a refuge in study were becoming unreadable, because the point of view that life would make for him was in that agitating moment of uncertainty which is close upon decision.

In his letters to Mordecai and Hans, he avoided writing about himself, but he was really in that state of mind in which all subjects become personal; and the few books he had brought with him were unreadable in his agitating uncertainty.


Many nights were watched through by him in gazing from the open window of his room on the double, faintly pierced darkness of the sea and the heavens; often in struggling under the oppressive skepticism which represented his particular lot, with all the importance he was allowing Mordecai to give it, as of no more lasting effect than a dream--a set of changes which made passion to him, but beyond his consciousness were no more than an imperceptible difference of mass and shadow; sometimes with a reaction of emotive force which gave even to sustained disappointment, even to the fulfilled demand of sacrifice, the nature of a satisfied energy, and spread over his young future, whatever it might be, the attraction of devoted service; sometimes with a sweet irresistible hopefulness that the very best of human possibilities might befall him--the blending of a complete personal love in one current with a larger duty; and sometimes again in a mood of rebellion (what human creature escapes it?) against things in general because they are thus and not otherwise, a mood in which Gwendolen and her equivocal fate moved as busy images of what was amiss in the world along with the concealments which he had felt as a hardship in his own life, and which were acting in him now under the form of an afflicting doubtfulness about the mother who had announced herself coldly and still kept away.

On many nights, he gazed from the open window of his room on the double, faintly pierced darkness of the sea and the heavens; often struggling under the oppressive scepticism which made him think of his lot as of no more lasting effect than a dream; sometimes with an emotional reaction which gave even to disappointment the nature of a satisfied energy, and spread over his young future, whatever it might be, the attraction of devoted service; sometimes with a sweet irresistible hopefulness that the very best of human possibilities might befall him - the blending of a complete personal love with a larger duty; and sometimes again in a mood of rebellion against things in general because they are thus and not otherwise, a mood in which Gwendolen and her fate moved as busy images of what was amiss in the world along with the concealments in his own life, which now afflicted him with doubt about the mother who had announced herself coldly and still kept away.


One morning in his third week of waiting there was a new kind of knock at the door.

One morning in his third week of waiting there was a knock at the door.


A servant in Chasseurs livery entered and delivered in French the verbal message that, the Princess Halm-Eberstein had arrived, that she was going to rest during the day, but would be obliged if Monsieur would dine early, so as to be at liberty at seven, when she would be able to receive him.

A liveried servant entered and delivered the message that the Princess Halm-Eberstein had arrived, that she was going to rest during the day, but would be obliged if Monsieur would be at liberty at seven, when she would be able to receive him.


We please our fancy with ideal webs Of innovation, but our life meanwhile Is in the loom, where busy passion plies The shuttle to and fro, and gives our deeds The accustomed pattern.


Gwendolen's note, coming "pat betwixt too early and too late," was put into Klesmer's hands just when he was leaving Quetcham, and in order to meet her appeal to his kindness he, with some inconvenience to himself spent the night at Wanchester.

Gwendolen's note was put into Klesmer's hands just when he was leaving Quetcham. With some inconvenience to himself, he arranged to spend the night at Wanchester.


There were reasons why he would not remain at Quetcham.


That magnificent mansion, fitted with regard to the greatest expense, had in fact became too hot for him, its owners having, like some great politicians, been astonished at an insurrection against the established order of things, which we plain people after the event can perceive to have been prepared under their very noses.

That magnificent mansion had in fact became too hot for him, its owners having been astonished at an insurrection against the established order of things, which had been prepared under their very noses.


There were as usual many guests in the house, and among them one in whom Miss Arrowpoint foresaw a new pretender to her hand: a political man of good family who confidently expected a peerage, and felt on public grounds that he required a larger fortune to support the title properly.

There were many guests in the house, including one in whom Miss Arrowpoint foresaw a new pretender to her hand: a political man of good family who confidently expected a peerage, and felt that he required a larger fortune to support the title properly.


Heiresses vary, and persons interested in one of them beforehand are prepared to find that she is too yellow or too red, tall and toppling or short and square, violent and capricious or moony and insipid; but in every case it is taken for granted that she will consider herself an appendage to her fortune, and marry where others think her fortunes ought to go. Nature, however, not only accommodates herself ill to our favorite practices by making "only children" daughters, but also now and then endows the misplaced daughter with a clear head and a strong will.

It is taken for granted that an heiress will consider herself an appendage to her fortune, and marry where others think her fortunes ought to go; however, Nature now and then endows her with a clear head and a strong will.


The Arrowpoints had already felt some anxiety owing to these endowments of their Catherine. She would not accept the view of her social duty which required her to marry a needy nobleman or a commoner on the ladder toward nobility; and they were not without uneasiness concerning her persistence in declining suitable offers.

The Arrowpoints had already felt some anxiety about their Catherine, and were uneasy at her persistence in declining suitable offers.


As to the possibility of her being in love with Klesmer they were not at all uneasy--a very common sort of blindness. For in general mortals have a great power of being astonished at the presence of an effect toward which they have done everything, and at the absence of an effect toward which they had done nothing but desire it. Parents are astonished at the ignorance of their sons, though they have used the most time-honored and expensive means of securing it; husbands and wives are mutually astonished at the loss of affection which they have taken no pains to keep; and all of us in our turn are apt to be astonished that our neighbors do not admire us. In this way it happens that the truth seems highly improbable. The truth is something different from the habitual lazy combinations begotten by our wishes.

As to the possibility of her being in love with Klesmer they were not at all uneasy: for the habitual lazy assumptions begotten by our wishes often blind us to the truth.


The Arrowpoints' hour of astonishment was come.


When there is a passion between an heiress and a proud independent-spirited man, it is difficult for them to come to an understanding; but the difficulties are likely to be overcome unless the proud man secures himself by a constant _alibi_. Brief meetings after studied absence are potent in disclosure: but more potent still is frequent companionship, with full sympathy in taste and admirable qualities on both sides; especially where the one is in the position of teacher and the other is delightedly conscious of receptive ability which also gives the teacher delight.

When there is a passion between an heiress and a proud independent-spirited man, it is difficult for them to come to an understanding; but frequent companionship, with sympathy in taste, has the power to bring them together; especially where the one is a teacher and the other is delightedly conscious of receptive ability which also gives the teacher delight.


The situation is famous in history, and has no less charm now than it had in the days of Abelard.


But this kind of comparison had not occurred to the Arrowpoints when they first engaged Klesmer to come down to Quetcham.

But this did not occur to the Arrowpoints when they first engaged Klesmer.


To have a first-rate musician in your house is a privilege of wealth; Catherine's musical talent demanded every advantage; and she particularly desired to use her quieter time in the country for more thorough study.

Catherine's musical talent demanded every advantage; and she desired to use her time in the country for study.


Klesmer was not yet a Liszt, understood to be adored by ladies of all European countries with the exception of Lapland: and even with that understanding it did not follow that he would make proposals to an heiress. No musician of honor would do so. Still less was it conceivable that Catherine would give him the slightest pretext for such daring. The large check that Mr. Arrowpoint was to draw in Klesmer's name seemed to make him as safe an inmate as a footman.

Klesmer was not yet a Liszt, and seemed as safe an inmate as a footman. That Catherine might fall in love with him was as inconceivable as that they could marry.


Where marriage is inconceivable, a girl's sentiments are safe.


Klesmer was eminently a man of honor, but marriages rarely begin with formal proposals, and moreover, Catherine's limit of the conceivable did not exactly correspond with her mother's.


Outsiders might have been more apt to think that Klesmer's position was dangerous for himself if Miss Arrowpoint had been an acknowledged beauty; not taking into account that the most powerful of all beauty is that which reveals itself after sympathy and not before it. There is a charm of eye and lip which comes with every little phrase that certifies delicate perception or fine judgment, with every unostentatious word or smile that shows a heart awake to others; and no sweep of garment or turn of figure is more satisfying than that which enters as a restoration of confidence that one person is present on whom no intention will be lost.

She was not an acknowledged beauty; but the most powerful beauty is that which reveals itself in sympathy; the word or smile that shows a heart awake to others.


What dignity of meaning goes on gathering in frowns and laughs which are never observed in the wrong place; what suffused adorableness in a human frame where there is a mind that can flash out comprehension and hands that can execute finely!

What adorableness is there in a mind that can flash out comprehension and hands that can execute finely!


The more obvious beauty, also adorable sometimes--one may say it without blasphemy--begins by being an apology for folly, and ends like other apologies in becoming tiresome by iteration; and that Klesmer, though very susceptible to it, should have a passionate attachment to Miss Arrowpoint, was no more a paradox than any other triumph of a manifold sympathy over a monotonous attraction.


We object less to be taxed with the enslaving excess of our passions than with our deficiency in wider passion; but if the truth were known, our reputed intensity is often the dullness of not knowing what else to do with ourselves.