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193 pages

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pubOne.info present you this new edition. On the morrow, in the evening, Lord Warburton went again to see his friends at their hotel, and at this establishment he learned that they had gone to the opera. He drove to the opera with the idea of paying them a visit in their box after the easy Italian fashion; and when he had obtained his admittance- it was one of the secondary theatres- looked about the large, bare, ill-lighted house. An act had just terminated and he was at liberty to pursue his quest. After scanning two or three tiers of boxes he perceived in one of the largest of these receptacles a lady whom he easily recognised. Miss Archer was seated facing the stage and partly screened by the curtain of the box; and beside her, leaning back in his chair, was Mr. Gilbert Osmond. They appeared to have the place to themselves, and Warburton supposed their companions had taken advantage of the recess to enjoy the relative coolness of the lobby. He stood a while with his eyes on the interesting pair; he asked himself if he should go up and interrupt the harmony

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819943662
Langue	English

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THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY
VOLUME II (of II)
By Henry James
CHAPTER XXVIII
On the morrow, in the evening, Lord Warburton wentagain to see his friends at their hotel, and at this establishmenthe learned that they had gone to the opera. He drove to the operawith the idea of paying them a visit in their box after the easyItalian fashion; and when he had obtained his admittance— it wasone of the secondary theatres— looked about the large, bare,ill-lighted house. An act had just terminated and he was at libertyto pursue his quest. After scanning two or three tiers of boxes heperceived in one of the largest of these receptacles a lady whom heeasily recognised. Miss Archer was seated facing the stage andpartly screened by the curtain of the box; and beside her, leaningback in his chair, was Mr. Gilbert Osmond. They appeared to havethe place to themselves, and Warburton supposed their companionshad taken advantage of the recess to enjoy the relative coolness ofthe lobby. He stood a while with his eyes on the interesting pair;he asked himself if he should go up and interrupt the harmony. Atlast he judged that Isabel had seen him, and this accidentdetermined him. There should be no marked holding off. He took hisway to the upper regions and on the staircase met Ralph Touchettslowly descending, his hat at the inclination of ennui and hishands where they usually were.
“I saw you below a moment since and was going downto you. I feel lonely and want company, ” was Ralph's greeting.
“You've some that's very good which you've yetdeserted. ”
“Do you mean my cousin? Oh, she has a visitor anddoesn't want me. Then Miss Stackpole and Bantling have gone out toa cafe to eat an ice— Miss Stackpole delights in an ice. I didn'tthink they wanted me either. The opera's very bad; the women looklike laundresses and sing like peacocks. I feel very low. ”
“You had better go home, ” Lord Warburton saidwithout affectation.
“And leave my young lady in this sad place? Ah no, Imust watch over her. ”
“She seems to have plenty of friends. ”
“Yes, that's why I must watch, ” said Ralph with thesame large mock-melancholy.
“If she doesn't want you it's probable she doesn'twant me. ”
“No, you're different. Go to the box and stay therewhile I walk about. ”
Lord Warburton went to the box, where Isabel'swelcome was as to a friend so honourably old that he vaguely askedhimself what queer temporal province she was annexing. He exchangedgreetings with Mr. Osmond, to whom he had been introduced the daybefore and who, after he came in, sat blandly apart and silent, asif repudiating competence in the subjects of allusion now probable.It struck her second visitor that Miss Archer had, in operaticconditions, a radiance, even a slight exaltation; as she was,however, at all times a keenly-glancing, quickly-moving, completelyanimated young woman, he may have been mistaken on this point. Hertalk with him moreover pointed to presence of mind; it expressed akindness so ingenious and deliberate as to indicate that she was inundisturbed possession of her faculties. Poor Lord Warburton hadmoments of bewilderment. She had discouraged him, formally, as muchas a woman could; what business had she then with such arts andsuch felicities, above all with such tones of reparation—preparation? Her voice had tricks of sweetness, but why play themon HIM? The others came back; the bare, familiar, trivial operabegan again. The box was large, and there was room for him toremain if he would sit a little behind and in the dark. He did sofor half an hour, while Mr. Osmond remained in front, leaningforward, his elbows on his knees, just behind Isabel. LordWarburton heard nothing, and from his gloomy corner saw nothing butthe clear profile of this young lady defined against the dimillumination of the house. When there was another interval no onemoved. Mr. Osmond talked to Isabel, and Lord Warburton kept hiscorner. He did so but for a short time, however; after which he gotup and bade good-night to the ladies. Isabel said nothing to detainhim, but it didn't prevent his being puzzled again. Why should shemark so one of his values— quite the wrong one— when she would havenothing to do with another, which was quite the right? He was angrywith himself for being puzzled, and then angry for being angry.Verdi's music did little to comfort him, and he left the theatreand walked homeward, without knowing his way, through the tortuous,tragic streets of Rome, where heavier sorrows than his had beencarried under the stars.
“What's the character of that gentleman? ” Osmondasked of Isabel after he had retired.
“Irreproachable— don't you see it? ”
“He owns about half England; that's his character, ”Henrietta remarked. “That's what they call a free country! ”
“Ah, he's a great proprietor? Happy man! ” saidGilbert Osmond.
“Do you call that happiness— the ownership ofwretched human beings? ” cried Miss Stackpole. “He owns his tenantsand has thousands of them. It's pleasant to own something, butinanimate objects are enough for me. I don't insist on flesh andblood and minds and consciences. ”
“It seems to me you own a human being or two, ” Mr.Bantling suggested jocosely. “I wonder if Warburton orders histenants about as you do me. ”
“Lord Warburton's a great radical, ” Isabel said.“He has very advanced opinions. ”
“He has very advanced stone walls. His park'senclosed by a gigantic iron fence, some thirty miles round, ”Henrietta announced for the information of Mr. Osmond. “I shouldlike him to converse with a few of our Boston radicals. ”
“Don't they approve of iron fences? ” asked Mr.Bantling.
“Only to shut up wicked conservatives. I always feelas if I were talking to YOU over something with a neat top-finishof broken glass. ”
“Do you know him well, this unreformed reformer? ”Osmond went on, questioning Isabel.
“Well enough for all the use I have for him. ”
“And how much of a use is that? ”
“Well, I like to like him. ”
“'Liking to like'— why, it makes a passion! ” saidOsmond.
“No”— she considered— “keep that for liking toDISlike. ”
“Do you wish to provoke me then, ” Osmond laughed,“to a passion for HIM? ”
She said nothing for a moment, but then met thelight question with a disproportionate gravity. “No, Mr. Osmond; Idon't think I should ever dare to provoke you. Lord Warburton, atany rate, ” she more easily added, “is a very nice man. ”
“Of great ability? ” her friend enquired.
“Of excellent ability, and as good as he looks.”
“As good as he's good-looking do you mean? He's verygood-looking. How detestably fortunate! — to be a great Englishmagnate, to be clever and handsome into the bargain, and, by way offinishing off, to enjoy your high favour! That's a man I couldenvy. ”
Isabel considered him with interest. “You seem to meto be always envying some one. Yesterday it was the Pope; to-dayit's poor Lord Warburton. ”
“My envy's not dangerous; it wouldn't hurt a mouse.I don't want to destroy the people— I only want to BE them. You seeit would destroy only myself. ”
“You'd like to be the Pope? ” said Isabel.
“I should love it— but I should have gone in for itearlier. But why”— Osmond reverted— “do you speak of your friend aspoor? ”
“Women— when they are very, very good sometimes pitymen after they've hurt them; that's their great way of showingkindness, ” said Ralph, joining in the conversation for the firsttime and with a cynicism so transparently ingenious as to bevirtually innocent.
“Pray, have I hurt Lord Warburton? ” Isabel asked,raising her eyebrows as if the idea were perfectly fresh.
“It serves him right if you have, ” said Henriettawhile the curtain rose for the ballet.
Isabel saw no more of her attributive victim for thenext twenty-four hours, but on the second day after the visit tothe opera she encountered him in the gallery of the Capitol, wherehe stood before the lion of the collection, the statue of the DyingGladiator. She had come in with her companions, among whom, on thisoccasion again, Gilbert Osmond had his place, and the party, havingascended the staircase, entered the first and finest of the rooms.Lord Warburton addressed her alertly enough, but said in a momentthat he was leaving the gallery. “And I'm leaving Rome, ” he added.“I must bid you goodbye. ” Isabel, inconsequently enough, was nowsorry to hear it. This was perhaps because she had ceased to beafraid of his renewing his suit; she was thinking of somethingelse. She was on the point of naming her regret, but she checkedherself and simply wished him a happy journey; which made him lookat her rather unlightedly. “I'm afraid you'll think me very'volatile. ' I told you the other day I wanted so much to stop.”
“Oh no; you could easily change your mind. ”
“That's what I have done. ”
“Bon voyage then. ”
“You're in a great hurry to get rid of me, ” saidhis lordship quite dismally.
“Not in the least. But I hate partings. ”
“You don't care what I do, ” he went onpitifully.
Isabel looked at him a moment. “Ah, ” she said,“you're not keeping your promise! ”
He coloured like a boy of fifteen. “If I'm not, thenit's because I can't; and that's why I'm going. ”
“Good-bye then. ”
“Good-bye. ” He lingered still, however. “When shallI see you again? ”
Isabel hesitated, but soon, as if she had had ahappy inspiration: “Some day after you're married. ”
“That will never be. It will be after you are. ”
“That will do as well, ” she smiled.
“Yes, quite as well. Good-bye. ”
They shook hands, and he left her alone in theglorious room, among the shining antique marbles. She sat down inthe centre of the circle of these presences, regarding themvaguely, resting her eyes on their beautiful blank faces;listening, as it were, to their eternal silence. It is impossible,in Rome at least, to look long at a great company of Greeksculptures without feeling the effect of their noble quietude;which, as with a high door closed for the ceremony, slowly drops onthe spirit the