The Golden Bowl - Henry James [214]
– and only not to think a quarter good enough; this however was an old story, and one couldn’t have had any fun with him but for his sweet theory that the individual gift, the friendship’s offering, was by a rigorous law of nature a foredoomed aberration, and that the more it was so the more it showed, and the more one cherished it for showing, how friendly it had been. The infirmity of art was the candour of affection, the grossness of pedigree the refinement of sympathy; the ugliest objects in fact as a general thing were the bravest, the tenderest mementoes, and, as such, figured in glass cases apart, worthy doubtless of the home but not worthy of the temple – dedicated to the grimacing, not to the clear-faced gods. She herself, naturally, through the past years, had come to be much represented in those receptacles; against the thick locked panes of which she still liked to flatten her nose, finding in its place each time everything she had on successive anniversaries tried to believe he might pretend at her suggestion to be put off with or at least to think curious. She was now ready to try it again: they had always, with his pleasure in her pretence and her pleasure in his, with the funny betrayal of the sacrifice to domestic manners on either side, played the game so happily. To this end, on her way home, she had loitered everywhere; quite too deludedly among the old books and the old prints, which had yielded nothing to her purpose, but with a strange inconsequence in one of the other shops, that of a small antiquarian, a queer little foreign man who had shown her a number of things, shown her finally something that, struck with it as rather a rarity and thinking it would, compared to some of her ventures, quite superlatively do, she had bought – bought really, when it came to that, for a price. ‘It appears now it won’t do at all,’ said Maggie; ‘something has happened since that puts it quite out of the question. I had only my day of satisfaction in it, but I feel at the same time, as I keep it here before me, that I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’ She had talked, from the first of her friend’s entrance, coherently enough, even with a small quaver that overstated her calm; but she held her breath every few seconds as if for deliberation and to prove she didn’t pant – all of which marked for Fanny the depth of her commotion: her reference to her thought about her father, about her chance to pick up something that might divert him, her mention in fine of his fortitude under presents, having meanwhile naturally, it should be said, much less an amplitude of insistence on the speaker’s lips than a power to produce on the part of the listener herself the prompt response and full comprehension of memory and sympathy, of old amused observation. The picture was filled out by the latter’s fond fancy. But Maggie was at any rate under arms; she knew what she was doing and had already her plan – a plan for making, for allowing as yet, ‘no difference’; in accordance with which she would still dine out, and not with red eyes nor convulsed features nor neglected items of appearance, nor anything that would raise a question. Yet there was some knowledge that exactly to this support of her not breaking down she desired, she required, possession of; and with the sinister rise and fall of lightning unaccompanied by thunder it played before Mrs Assingham’s eyes that she herself should have, at whatever risk or whatever cost, to supply her with the stuff of her need. All our friend’s instinct was to hold off from this till she should see what the ground would bear; she would take no step nearer unless intelligibly to meet her, and, awkward though it might be to hover there only pale and distorted, with mere imbecilities of vagueness, there was a quality of bald help in the fact of not as yet guessing what such an ominous start could lead to. She caught, however, after a second’s thought, at the Princess’s allusion to her lost reassurance.
‘You mean you were so at your ease on Monday – the night you dined with us?’
‘I was very happy then,