The Wings of the Dove by Henry James (bill gates books to read TXT) 📕

She hesitated. “I don’t say everyone.”

“You said just now Miss Theale.”

“I said she liked you⁠—yes.”

“Well, it comes to the same thing.” With which, however, he pursued: “Of course I ought to thank Mrs. Lowder in person. I mean for this⁠—as from myself.”

“Ah but, you know, not too much!” She had an ironic gaiety for the implications of his “this,” besides wishing to insist on a general prudence. “She’ll wonder what you’re thanking her for!”

Densher did justice to both considerations. “Yes, I can’t very well tell her all.”

It was perhaps because he said it so gravely that Kate was again in a manner amused. Yet she gave out light. “You can’t very well ‘tell’ her anything, and that doesn’t matter. Only be nice to her. Please her; make her see how clever you are⁠—only without letting her see that you’re trying. If you’re charming to her you’ve nothing else to do.”

But she oversimplified too. “I can be ‘charming’ to her, so far as I see, only by letting her suppose I give you up⁠—which I’ll be hanged if I do! It is,” he said with feeling, “a game.”

“Of course it’s a game. But she’ll never suppose you give me up⁠—or I give you⁠—if you keep reminding her how you enjoy our interviews.”

“Then if she has to see us as obstinate and constant,” Densher asked, “what good does it do?”

Kate was for a moment checked. “What good does what⁠—?”

“Does my pleasing her⁠—does anything. I can’t,” he impatiently declared, “please her.”

Kate looked at him hard again, disappointed at his want of consistency; but it appeared to determine in her something better than a mere complaint. “Then I can! Leave it to me.” With which she came to him under the compulsion, again, that had united them shortly before, and took hold of him in her urgency to the same tender purpose. It was her form of entreaty renewed and repeated, which made after all, as he met it, their great fact clear. And it somehow clarified all things so to possess each other. The effect of it was that, once more, on these terms, he could only be generous. He had so on the spot then left everything to her that she reverted in the course of a few moments to one of her previous⁠—and as positively seemed⁠—her most precious ideas. “You accused me just now of saying that Milly’s in love with you. Well, if you come to that, I do say it. So there you are. That’s the good she’ll do us. It makes a basis for her seeing you⁠—so that she’ll help us to go on.”

Densher stared⁠—she was wondrous all round. “And what sort of a basis does it make for my seeing her?”

“Oh I don’t mind!” Kate smiled.

“Don’t mind my leading her on?”

She put it differently. “Don’t mind her leading you.”

“Well, she won’t⁠—so it’s nothing not to mind. But how can that ‘help,’ ” he pursued, “with what she knows?”

“What she knows? That needn’t prevent.”

He wondered. “Prevent her loving us?”

“Prevent her helping you. She’s like that,” Kate Croy explained.

It took indeed some understanding. “Making nothing of the fact that I love another?”

“Making everything,” said Kate. “To console you.”

“But for what?”

“For not getting your other.”

He continued to stare. “But how does she know⁠—?”

“That you won’t get her? She doesn’t; but on the other hand she doesn’t know you will. Meanwhile she sees you baffled, for she knows of Aunt Maud’s stand. That”⁠—Kate was lucid⁠—“gives her the chance to be nice to you.”

“And what does it give me,” the young man none the less rationally asked, “the chance to be? A brute of a humbug to her?”

Kate so possessed her facts, as it were, that she smiled at his violence. “You’ll extraordinarily like her. She’s exquisite. And there are reasons. I mean others.”

“What others?”

“Well, I’ll tell you another time. Those I give you,” the girl added, “are enough to go on with.”

“To go on to what?”

“Why, to seeing her again⁠—say as soon as you can: which, moreover, on all grounds, is no more than decent of you.”

He of course took in her reference, and he had fully in mind what had passed between them in New York. It had been no great quantity, but it had made distinctly at the time for his pleasure; so that anything in the nature of an appeal in the name of it could have a slight kindling consequence. “Oh I shall naturally call again without delay. Yes,” said Densher, “her being in love with me is nonsense; but I must, quite independently of that, make every acknowledgement of favours received.”

It appeared practically all Kate asked. “Then you see. I shall meet you there.”

“I don’t quite see,” he presently returned, “why she should wish to receive you for it.”

“She receives me for myself⁠—that is for her self. She thinks no end of me. That I should have to drum it into you!”

Yet still he didn’t take it. “Then I confess she’s beyond me.”

Well, Kate could but leave it as she saw it. “She regards me as already⁠—in these few weeks⁠—her dearest friend. It’s quite separate. We’re in, she and I, ever so deep.” And it was to confirm this that, as if it had flashed upon her that he was somewhere at sea, she threw out at last her own real light. “She doesn’t of course know I care for you. She thinks I care so little that it’s not worth speaking of.” That he had been somewhere at sea these remarks made quickly clear, and Kate hailed the effect with surprise. “Have you been supposing that she does know⁠—?”

“About our situation? Certainly, if you’re such friends as you show me⁠—and if you haven’t otherwise represented it to her.” She uttered at this such a sound of impatience that he stood artlessly vague. “You have denied it to her?”

She threw up her arms at his being so backward. “ ‘Denied it’? My dear man, we’ve never spoken of you.”

“Never, never?”

“Strange as