The Golden Bowl - Henry James [219]
Her visitor took it as might be. ‘They both married – ah that you must believe! – with the highest intentions.’
‘Father did certainly!’ And then at the renewal of this consciousness it all rolled over her. ‘Ah to thrust such things on us, to do them here between us and with us day after day and in return, in return –! To do it to him – to him, to him!’
Fanny hesitated. ‘You mean it’s for him you most suffer?’ And then as the Princess, after a look, but turned away, moving about the room – which made the question somehow seem a blunder – ‘I ask,’ she continued, ‘because I think everything, everything we now speak of, may be for him really, may be made for him, quite as if it hadn’t been.’
But Maggie had the next moment faced about as if without hearing her. ‘Father did it for me – did it all and only for me.’
Mrs Assingham, with a certain promptness, threw up her head; but she faltered again before she spoke. ‘Well –!’
It was only an intended word, but Maggie showed after an instant that it had reached her. ‘Do you mean that that’s the reason, that that’s a reason –?’
Fanny at first however, feeling the response in this, didn’t say all she meant; she said for the moment something else instead. ‘He did it for you – largely at least for you. And it was for you that I did, in my smaller interested way – well, what I could do. For I could do something,’ she continued; ‘I thought I saw your interest as he himself saw it. And I thought I saw Charlotte’s. I believed in her.’
‘And I believed in her,’ said Maggie.
Mrs Assingham waited again; but she presently pushed on. ‘She believed then in herself.’
‘Ah?’ Maggie murmured.
Something exquisite, faintly eager, in the prompt simplicity of it, supported her friend further. ‘And the Prince believed. His belief was real. Just as he believed in himself.’
Maggie spent a minute in taking it from her. ‘He believed in himself?’
‘Just as I too believed in him. For I absolutely did, Maggie.’ To which Fanny then added: ‘And I believe in him yet. I mean,’ she subjoined – ‘well, I mean I do.’
Maggie again took it from her; after which she was again restlessly set afloat. Then when this had come to an end: ‘And do you believe in Charlotte yet?’
Mrs Assingham had a demur that she felt she could now afford. ‘We’ll talk of Charlotte some other day. They both at any rate thought themselves safe at the time.’
‘Then why did they keep from me everything I might have known?’
Her friend bent upon her the mildest eyes. ‘Why did I myself keep it from you?’
‘Oh you weren’t obliged for honour.’
‘Dearest Maggie,’ the poor woman broke out on this, ‘you are divine!’
‘They pretended to love me,’ the Princess went on. ‘And they pretended to love him.’
‘And pray what was there that I didn’t pretend?’
‘Not at any rate to care for me as you cared for Amerigo and for Charlotte. They were much more interesting – it was perfectly natural. How couldn’t you like Amerigo?’ Maggie continued.
Mrs Assingham gave it up. ‘How couldn’t I, how couldn’t I?’ Then with a fine freedom she went all her way. ‘How can’t I, how can’t I?’
It fixed afresh Maggie’s wide eyes on her. ‘I see – I see. Well, it’s beautiful for you to be able to. And of course,’ she added, ‘you wanted to help Charlotte.’
‘Yes’ – Fanny considered it – ‘I wanted to help Charlotte. But I wanted also, you see, to help you – by not digging up a past that I believed, with so much on top of it, solidly buried. I wanted, as I still want,’ she richly declared, ‘to help every one.’
It set Maggie once more in movement – movement which however spent itself again with a quick emphasis. ‘Then it’s a good deal my fault – if everything really began so well?’
Fanny Assingham met it as she could.