Wings of the Dove (Barnes & Noble Classi - Henry James [172]
He thought a moment. “You’ll be four women together then?”
“Ah,” said Milly, “we’re widows and orphans. But I think,” she added as if to say what she saw would reassure him, “that we shall not be unattractive, as we move, to gentlemen. When you talk of ‘life’ I suppose you mean mainly gentlemen.”
“When I talk of ‘life,’ ” he made answer after a moment during which he might have been appreciating her raciness—“when I talk of life I think I mean more than anything else the beautiful show of it, in its freshness, made by young persons of your age. So go on as you are. I see more and more how you are. You can’t,” he went so far as to say for pleasantness, “better it.”
She took it from him with a great show of peace. “One of our companions will be Miss Croy, who came with me here first. It’s in her that life is splendid; and a part of that is even that she’s devoted to me. But she’s above all magnificent in herself. So that if you’d like,” she freely threw out, “to see her—”
“Oh I shall like to see any one who’s devoted to you, for clearly it will be jolly to be ‘in’ it. So that if she’s to be at Venice I shall see her?”
“We must arrange it—I shan’t fail. She moreover has a friend who may also be there”—Milly found herself going on to this. “He’s likely to come, I believe, for he always follows her.”
Sir Luke wondered. “You mean they’re lovers?”
“He is,” Milly smiled; “but not she. She doesn’t care for him.”
Sir Luke took an interest. “What’s the matter with him?”
“Nothing but that she doesn’t like him.”
Sir Luke kept it up. “Is he all right?”
“Oh he’s very nice. Indeed he’s remarkably so.”
“And he’s to be in Venice?”
“So she tells me she fears. For if he is there he’ll be constantly about with her.”
“And she’ll be constantly about with you?”
“As we’re great friends—yes.”
“Well then,” said Sir Luke, “you won’t be four women alone.”
“Oh no; I quite recognize the chance of gentlemen. But he won’t,” Milly pursued in the same wondrous way, “have come, you see, for me.”
“No—I see. But can’t you help him?”
“Can’t you?” Milly after a moment quaintly asked. Then for the joke of it she explained. “I’m putting you, you see, in relation with my entourage.”
It might have been for the joke of it too, by this time, that her eminent friend fell in. “But if this gentleman isn’t of your ‘entourage’? I mean if he’s of—what do you call her?—Miss Croy’s. Unless indeed you also take an interest in him.”
“Oh certainly I take an interest in him!”
“You think there may be then some chance for him?”
“I like him,” said Milly, “enough to hope so.”
“Then that’s all right. But what, pray,” Sir Luke next asked, “have I to do with him?”
“Nothing,” said Milly, “except that if you’re to be there, so may he be. And also that we shan’t in that case be simply four dreary women.”
He considered her as if at this point she a little tried his patience. “You’re the least ‘dreary’ woman I’ve ever, ever seen. Ever, do you know? There’s no reason why you shouldn’t have a really splendid life.”
“So every one tells me,” she promptly returned.
“The conviction—strong already when I had seen you once—is strengthened in me by having seen your friend. There’s no doubt about it. The world’s before you.”
“What did my friend tell you?” Milly asked.
“Nothing that wouldn’t have given you pleasure. We talked about you—and freely. I don’t deny that. But it shows me I don’t require of you the impossible.”
She was now on her feet. “I think I know what you require of me.”
“Nothing, for you,” he went on, “is impossible. So go on.” He repeated it again—wanting her so to feel that to-day he saw it. “You’re all right.”
“Well,” she smiled—“keep me so.”
“Oh you’ll get away from me.”
“Keep me, keep me,” she simply continued with her gentle eyes on him.
She had given him her hand for good-bye, and he thus for a moment did keep her. Something then, while he seemed to think if there were anything more, came back to him; though something of which there wasn’t too much to be made. “Of course if there