The Awkward Age - Henry James (ap literature book list .txt) đ
- Author: Henry James
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His fellow visitor, on this, made, in a pause, a nearer approach to taking visibly his measure. âAre you sure youâve got an idea?â Mr. Mitchett brightly thought. âNo. That must be just why I appeal to you. And it canât therefore be for confirmation, can it?â he went on. âIt must be for the beautiful primary hint altogether.â
His interlocutor began, with a shake of the eyeglass, to shift and sidle again, as if distinctly excited by the subject. But it was as if his very excitement made the poor gentleman a trifle coy. âAre there no nice ones now?â
âOh yes, there must be lots. In fact I know quantities.â
This had the effect of pulling the stranger up. âAh âquantitiesâ! There it is.â
âYes,â said Mitchy, âfancy the âladyâ in her millions. Have you come up to London, wondering, as you must, about whatâs happeningâfor Vanderbank mentioned, I think, that you HAVE come upâin pursuit of her?â
âAh,â laughed the subject of Vanderbankâs information, âIâm afraid âpursuit,â with me, is over.â
âWhy, youâre at the age,â Mitchy returned, âofâthe most exquisite form of it. Observation.â
âYet itâs a form, I seem to see, that youâve not waited for my age to cultivate.â This was followed by a decisive headshake. âIâm not an observer. Iâm a hater.â
âThat only means,â Mitchy explained, âthat you keep your observation for your likesâwhich is more admirable than prudent. But between my fear in the one direction and my desire in the other,â he lightly added, âI scarcely know how to present myself. I must study the ground. Meanwhile HAS old Van told you much about me?â
Old Vanâs possible confidant, instead of immediately answering, again assumed the pince-nez. âIs that what you call him?â
âIn general, I thinkâfor shortness.â
âAnd alsoââthe speaker hesitatedââfor esteem?â
Mitchy laughed out. âFor veneration! Our disrespects, I think, are all tender, and we wouldnât for the world do to a person we donât like anything so nice as to call him, or even to call her, donât you knowâ?â
His questioner had quickly looked as if he knew. âSomething pleasant and vulgar?â
Mitchyâs gaiety deepened. âThat discriminationâs our only austerity. You must fall in.â
âThen what will you call ME?â
âWhat can we?â After which, sustainingly, âIâm âMitchy,ââ our friend stated.
His interlocutor looked slightly queer. âI donât think I can quite begin. Iâm Mr. Longdon,â he almost blushed to articulate.
âAbsolutely and essentiallyâthatâs exactly what I recognise. I defy any one to see you,â Mitchy declared, âas anything else, and on that footing youâll be, among us, unique.â
Mr. Longdon appeared to accept his prospect of isolation with a certain gravity. âI gather from youâIâve gathered indeed from Mr. Vanderbankâ that youâre a little sort of a set that hang very much together.â
âOh yes; not a formal association nor a secret societyâstill less a âdangerous gangâ or an organisation for any definite end. Weâre simply a collection of natural affinities,â Mitchy explained; âmeeting perhaps principally in Mrs. Brookâs drawing-roomâthough sometimes also in old Vanâs, as you see, sometimes even in mineâand governed at any rate everywhere by Mrs. Brook, in our mysterious ebbs and flows, very much as the tides are governed by the moon. As I say,â Mitchy pursued, âyou must join. But if Van has got hold of you,â he added, âor youâve got hold of him, you HAVE joined. Weâre not quite so numerous as I could wish, and we want variety; we want just what Iâm sure youâll bring usâa fresh eye, an outside mind.â
Mr. Longdon wore for a minute the air of a man knowing but too well what it was to be asked to put down his name. âMy friend Vanderbank swaggers so little that itâs rather from you than from himself that I seem to catch the ideaâ!â
âOf his being a great figure among us? I donât know what he may have said to you or have suppressed; but you can take it from meâas between ourselves, you knowâthat heâs very much the best of us. Old Van in factâif you really want a candid opinion,â and Mitchy shone still brighter as he talked, âis formed for a distinctly higher sphere. I should go so far as to say that on our level heâs positively wasted.â
âAnd are you very sure youâre not?â Mr. Longdon asked with a smile.
âDear noâIâm in my element. My elementâs to grovel before Van. Youâve only to look at me, as you must already have made out, to see Iâm everything dreadful that he isnât. But youâve seen him for yourselfâI neednât tell you!â Mitchy sighed.
Mr. Longdon, as under the coercion of so much confidence, had stood in place longer than for any previous moment, and the spell continued for a minute after Mitchy had paused. Then nervously and abruptly he turned away, his friend watching him rather aimlessly wander. âOur host has spoken of you to me in high terms,â he said as he came back. âYouâd have no fault to find with them.â
Mitchy took it with his highest light. âI know from your taking the trouble to remember that, how much what Iâve said of him pleases and touches you. Weâre a little sort of religion then, you and I; weâre an organisation of two, at any rate, and we canât help ourselves. Thereâ thatâs settled.â He glanced at the clock on the chimney. âBut whatâs the matter with him?â
âYou gentlemen dress so much,â said Mr. Longdon.
Mitchy met the explanation quite halfway. âI try to look funnyâbut why should Apollo in person?â
Mr. Longdon weighed it. âDo you think him like Apollo?â
âThe very image. Ask any of the women!â
âBut do I knowâ?â
âHow Apollo must look?â Mitchy considered. âWhy the way it works is that itâs just from Vanâs appearance they get the tip, and that then, donât you see? theyâve their term of comparison. Isnât it what you call a vicious circle? I borrow a little their vice.â
Mr. Longdon, who had once more been arrested, once more sidled away. Then he spoke from the other side of the expanse of a table covered with books for which the shelves had no spaceâcovered with portfolios, with well-worn leather-cased boxes, with documents in neat piles. The place was a miscellany, yet not a litter, the picture of an admirable order. âIf weâre a fond association of two, you and I, let me, accepting your idea, do what, this way, under a gentlemanâs roof and while enjoying his hospitality, I should in ordinary circumstances think perhaps something of a breach.â
âOh strike out!â Mitchy laughed. It possibly chilled his interlocutor, who again hung fire so long that he himself at last adopted his image. âWhy doesnât he marry, you mean?â
Mr. Longdon fairly flushed with recognition. âYouâre very deep, but with what we perceiveâwhy doesnât he?â
Mitchy continued visibly to have his amusement, which might have been, this time and in spite of the amalgamation he had pictured, for what âtheyâ perceived. But he threw off after an instant an answer clearly intended to meet the case. âHe thinks he hasnât the means. He has great ideas of what a fellow must offer a woman.â
Mr. Longdonâs eyes travelled a while over the amenities about him. âHe hasnât such a view of himself aloneâ?â
âAs to make him think heâs enough as he stands? No,â said Mitchy, âI donât fancy he has a very awful view of himself alone. And since we ARE burning this incense under his nose,â he added, âitâs also my impression that he has no private means. Women in London cost so much.â
Mr. Longdon had a pause. âThey come very high, I dare say.â
âOh tremendously. They want so muchâthey want everything. I mean the sort of women he lives with. A modest manâwhoâs also poorâisnât in it. I give you that at any rate as his view. There are lots of them that wouldâand only too gladââlove him for himselfâ; but things are much mixed, and these not necessarily the right ones, and at all events he doesnât see it. The result of which is that heâs waiting.â
âWaiting to feel himself in love?â
Mitchy just hesitated. âWell, weâre talking of marriage. Of course youâll say there are women with money. There AREââhe seemed for a moment to meditateââdreadful ones!â
The two men, on this, exchanged a long regard. âHe mustnât do that.â
Mitchy again hesitated. âHe wonât.â
Mr. Longdon had also a silence, which he presently terminated by one of his jerks into motion. âHe shanât!â
Once more Mitchy watched him revolve a little, but now, familiarly yet with a sharp emphasis, he himself resumed their colloquy. âSee here, Mr. Longdon. Are you seriously taking him up?â
Yet again, at the tone of this appeal, the old man perceptibly coloured. It was as if his friend had brought to the surface an inward excitement, and he laughed for embarrassment. âYou see things with a freedomââ
âYes, and itâs so I express them. I see them, I know, with a raccourci; but time after all rather presses, and at any rate we understand each other. What I want now is just to sayââand Mitchy spoke with a simplicity and a gravity he had not yet usedââthat if your interest in him should at any time reach the point of your wishing to do something or other (no matter what, donât you see?) FOR himâ!â
Mr. Longdon, as he faltered, appeared to wonder, but emitted a sound of gentleness. âYes?â
âWhy,â said the stimulated Mitchy, âdo, for Godâs sake, just let me have a finger in it.â
Mr. Longdonâs momentary mystification was perhaps partly but the natural effect of constitutional prudence. âA finger?â
âI meanâlet me help.â
âOh!â breathed the old man thoughtfully and without meeting his eyes.
Mitchy, as if with more to say, watched him an instant, then before speaking caught himself up. âLook outâhere he comes.â
Hearing the stir of the door by which he had entered he looked round; but it opened at first only to admit Vanderbankâs servant. âMiss Brookenham!â the man announced; on which the two gentlemen in the room wereâaudibly, almost violentlyâprecipitated into a union of surprise.
IIHowever she might have been discussed Nanda was not one to shrink, for, though she drew up an instant on failing to find in the room the person whose invitation she had obeyed, she advanced the next moment as if either of the gentlemen before her would answer as well. âHow do you do, Mr. Mitchy? How do you do, Mr. Longdon?â She made no difference for them, speaking to the elder, whom she had not yet seen, as if they were already acquainted. There was moreover in the air of that personage at this juncture little to invite such a confidence: he appeared to have been startled, in the oddest manner, into stillness and, holding out no hand to meet her, only stared rather stiffly and without a smile. An observer disposed to interpret the scene might have fancied him a trifle put off by the girlâs familiarity, or even, as by a singular effect of her self-possession, stricken into deeper diffidence. This self-possession, however, took
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