view, she was immediately addressed by a pair of gentlemen, high personages in the Roman world,
who met her as if they had been looking for her. While she talked with them she found herself
regretting she had moved; it looked a little like running away--all the more as Lord Warburton
didn't follow her. She was glad of this, however, and at any rate she was satisfied. She was so well
satisfied that when, in passing back into the ball-room, she found Edward Rosier still planted in the
doorway, she stopped and spoke to him again. "You did right not to go away. I've some comfort
for you."
"I need it," the young man softly wailed, "when I see you so awfully thick with him!"
"Don't speak of him; I'll do what I can for you. I'm afraid it won't be much, but what I can I'll do."
He looked at her with gloomy obliqueness. "What has suddenly brought you round?"
"The sense that you are an inconvenience in doorways!" she answered, smiling as she passed him.
Half an hour later she took leave, with Pansy, and at the foot of the staircase the two ladies, with
many other departing guests, waited a while for their carriage. Just as it approached Lord
Warburton came out of the house and assisted them to reach their vehicle. He stood a moment at
the door, asking Pansy if she had amused herself; and she, having answered him, fell back with a
little air of fatigue. Then Isabel, at the window, detaining him by a movement of her finger,
murmured gently: "Don't forget to send your letter to her father!"
CHAPTER XLIV
The Countess Gemini was often extremely bored--bored, in her own phrase, to extinction. She had
not been extinguished, however, and she struggled bravely enough with her destiny, which had
been to marry an unaccommodating Florentine who insisted upon living in his native town, where
he enjoyed such consideration as might attach to a gentleman whose talent for losing at cards had
not the merit of being incidental to an obliging disposition. The Count Gemini was not liked even
by those who won from him; and he bore a name which, having a measurable value in Florence,
was, like the local coin of the old Italian states, without currency in other parts of the peninsula. In
Rome he was simply a very dull Florentine, and it is not remarkable that he should not have cared
to pay frequent visits to a place where, to carry it off, his dulness needed more explanation than
was convenient. The Countess lived with her eyes upon Rome, and it was the constant grievance of
her life that she had not an habitation there. She was ashamed to say how seldom she had been
allowed to visit that city; it scarcely made the matter better that there were other members of the
Florentine nobility who never had been there at all. She went whenever she could; that was all she
could say. Or rather not all, but all she said she could say. In fact she had much more to say about
it, and had often set forth the reasons why she hated Florence and wished to end her days in the
shadow of Saint Peter's. They are reasons, however, that do not closely concern us, and were
usually summed up in the declaration that Rome, in short, was the Eternal City and that Florence
was simply a pretty little place like any other. The Countess apparently needed to connect the idea
of eternity with her amusements. She was convinced that society was infinitely more interesting in
Rome, where you met celebrities all winter at evening parties. At Florence there were no
celebrities; none at least that one had heard of. Since her brother's marriage her impatience had
第 297 页 共 391 页
原版英语阅读网
greatly increased; she was so sure his wife had a more brilliant life than herself. She was not so
intellectual as Isabel, but she was intellectual enough to do justice to Rome--not to the ruins and
the catacombs, not even perhaps to the monuments and museums, the church ceremonies and the
scenery; but certainly to all the rest. She heard a great deal about her sister-in-law and knew
perfectly that Isabel was having a beautiful time. She had indeed seen it for herself on the only
occasion on which she had enjoyed the hospitality of Palazzo Roccanera. She had spent a week
there during the first winter of her brother's marriage, but she had not been encouraged to renew
this satisfaction. Osmond didn't want her--that she was perfectly aware of; but she would have
gone all the same, for after all she didn't care two straws about Osmond. It was her husband who
wouldn't let her, and the money question was always a trouble. Isabel had been very nice; the
Countess, who had liked her sister-in-law from the first, had not been blinded by envy to Isabel's
personal merits. She had always observed that she got on better with clever women than with silly
ones like herself; the silly ones could never understand her wisdom, whereas the clever ones--the
really clever ones--always understood her silliness. It appeared to her that, different as they were in
appearance and general style, Isabel and she had somewhere a patch of common ground that they
would set their feet upon at last. It was not very large, but it was firm, and they should both know
it when once they had really touched it. And then she lived, with Mrs. Osmond, under the
influence of a pleasant surprise; she was constantly expecting that Isabel would "look down" on
her, and she as constantly saw this operation postponed. She asked herself when it would begin,
like fire-works, or Lent, or the opera season; not that she cared much, but she wondered what kept
it in abeyance. Her sister-in-law regarded her with none but level glances and expressed for the
poor Countess as little contempt as admiration. In reality Isabel would as soon have thought of
despising her as of passing a moral judgement on a grasshopper. She was not indifferent to her
husband's sister, however; she was rather a little afraid of her. She wondered at her; she thought
her very extraordinary. The Countess seemed to her to have no soul; she was like a bright rare
shell, with a polished surface and a remarkably pink lip, in which something would rattle when
you shook it. This rattle was apparently the Countess's spiritual principle, a little loose nut that
tumbled about inside of her. She was too odd for disdain, too anomalous for comparisons. Isabel
would have invited her again (there was no question of inviting the Count); but Osmond, after his
marriage, had not scrupled to say frankly that Amy was a fool of the worst species --a fool whose
folly had the irrepressibility of genius. He said at another time that she had no heart; and he added
in a moment that she had given it all away--in small pieces, like a frosted wedding-cake. The fact
of not having been asked was of course another obstacle to the Countess's going again to Rome;
but at the period with which this history has now to deal she was in receipt of an invitation to
spend several weeks at Palazzo Roccanera. The proposal had come from Osmond himself, who
wrote to his sister that she must be prepared to be very quiet. Whether or no she found in this
phrase all the meaning he had put into it I am unable to say; but she accepted the invitation on any
terms. She was curious, moreover; for one of the impressions of her former visit had been that her
brother had found his match. Before the marriage she had been sorry for Isabel, so sorry as to have
had serious thoughts--if any of the Countess's thoughts were serious--of putting her on her guard.
But she had let that pass, and after a little she was reassured. Osmond was as lofty as ever, but his
wife would not be an easy victim. The Countess was not very exact at measurements, but it seemed
to her that if Isabel should draw herself up she would be the taller spirit of the two. What she
第 298 页 共 391 页
原版英语阅读网
wanted to learn now was whether Isabel had drawn herself up; it would give her immense pleasure
to see Osmond overtopped.
Several days before she was to start for Rome a servant brought her the card of a visitor--a card
with the simple superscription "Henrietta C. Stackpole." The Countess pressed her finger-tips to
her forehead; she didn't remember to have known any such Henrietta as that. The servant then
remarked that the lady had requested him to say that if the Countess should not recognise her name
she would know her well enough on seeing her. By the time she appeared before her visitor she
had in fact reminded herself that there was once a literary lady at Mrs. Touchett's; the only woman
of letters she had ever encountered--that is the only modern one, since she was the daughter of a
defunct poetess. She recognised Miss Stackpole immediately, the more so that Miss Stackpole
seemed perfectly unchanged; and the Countess, who was thoroughly good-natured, thought it
rather fine to be called on by a person of that sort of distinction. She wondered if Miss Stackpole
had come on account of her mother--whether she had heard of the American Corinne. Her mother
was not at all like Isabel's friend; the Countess could see at a glance that this lady was much more
contemporary; and she received an impression of the improvements that were taking place--chiefly
in distant countries--in the character (the professional character) of literary ladies. Her mother had
been used to wear a Roman scarf thrown over a pair of shoulders timorously bared of their tight
black velvet (oh the old clothes!) and a gold laurel-wreath set upon a multitude of glossy ringlets.
She had spoken softly and vaguely, with the accent of her "Creole" ancestors, as she always
confessed; she sighed a great deal and was not at all enterprising. But Henrietta, the Countess
could see, was always closely buttoned and compactly braided; there was something brisk and
business-like in her appearance; her manner was almost conscientiously familiar. It was as
impossible to imagine her ever vaguely sighing as to imagine a letter posted without its address.
The Countess could not but feel that the correspondent of the Interviewer was much more in the
movement than the American Corinne. She explained that she had called on the Countess because
she was the only person she knew in Florence, and that when she visited a foreign city she liked to
see something more than superficial travellers. She knew Mrs. Touchett, but Mrs. Touchett was in
America, and even if she had been in Florence Henrietta would not have put herself out for her,
since Mrs. Touchett was not one of her admirations.
"Do you mean by that that I am?" the Countess graciously asked.
"Well, I like you better than I do her," said Miss Stackpole. "I seem to remember that when I saw
you before you were very interesting. I don't know whether it was an accident or whether it's your
usual style. At any rate I was a good deal struck with what you said. I made use of it afterwards in
print."
"Dear me!" cried the Countess, staring and half-alarmed; "I had no idea I ever said anything
remarkable! I wish I had known it at the time."
"It was about the position of woman in this city," Miss Stackpole remarked. "You threw a good
deal of light upon it."
"The position of woman's very uncomfortable. Is that what you mean? And you wrote it down and
published it?" the Countess went on. "Ah, do let me see it!"
第 299 页 共 391 页
原版英语阅读网
"I'll write to them to send you the paper if you like," Henrietta said. "I didn't mention your name; I
only said a lady of high rank. And then I quoted your views."
The Countess threw herself hastily backward, tossing up her clasped hands. "Do you know I'm
rather sorry you didn't mention my name? I should have rather liked to see my name in the papers.
I forget what my views were; I have so many! But I'm not ashamed of them. I'm not at all like my
brother--I suppose you know my brother? He thinks it a kind of scandal to be put in the papers; if
you were to quote him he'd never forgive you."
"He needn't be afraid; I shall never refer to him," said Miss Stackpole with bland dryness. "That's
another reason," she added, "why I wanted to come to see you. You know Mr. Osmond married
my dearest friend."
"Ah, yes; you were a friend of Isabel's. I was trying to think what I knew about you."
"I'm quite willing to be known by that," Henrietta declared. "But that isn't what your brother likes
to know me by. He has tried to break up my relations with Isabel."
"Don't permit it," said the Countess.
"That's what I want to talk about. I'm going to Rome."
"So am I!" the Countess cried. "We'll go together."
"With great pleasure. And when I write about my journey I'll mention you by name as my
companion."
The Countess sprang from her chair and came and sat on the sofa beside her visitor. "Ah, you must
send me the paper! My husband won't like it, but he need never see it. Besides, he doesn't know
how to read."
Henrietta's large eyes became immense. "Doesn't know how to read? May I put that into my
letter?"
"Into your letter?"
"In the Interviewer. That's my paper."
"Oh yes, if you like; with his name. Are you going to stay with Isabel?"
Henrietta held up her head, gazing a little in silence at her hostess. "She has not asked me. I wrote
to her I was coming, and she answered that she would engage a room for me at a pension. She
gave no reason."
The Countess listened with extreme interest. "The reason's Osmond," she pregnantly remarked.
"Isabel ought to make a stand," said Miss Stackpole. "I'm afraid she has changed a great deal. I
told her she would."
"I'm sorry to hear it; I hoped she would have her own way. Why doesn't my brother like you?" the
Countess ingenuously added.
"I don't know and I don't care. He's perfectly welcome not to like me; I don't want every one to like
me; I should think less of myself if some people did. A journalist can't hope to do much good
unless he gets a good deal hated; that's the way he knows how his work goes on. And it's just the
same for a lady. But I didn't expect it of Isabel."
第 300 页 共 391 页
原版英语阅读网
"Do you mean that she hates you?" the Countess enquired.
"I don't know; I want to see. That's what I'm going to Rome for."
"Dear me, what a tiresome errand!" the Countess exclaimed.
"She doesn't write to me in the same way; it's easy to see there's a difference. If you know
anything," Miss Stackpole went on, "I should like to hear it beforehand, so as to decide on the line
I shall take."
The Countess thrust out her under lip and gave a gradual shrug. "I know very little; I see and hear
very little of Osmond. He doesn't like me any better than he appears to like you."
"Yet you're not a lady correspondent," said Henrietta pensively.
"Oh, he has plenty of reasons. Nevertheless they've invited me-- I'm to stay in the house!" And the
Countess smiled almost fiercely; her exultation, for the moment, took little account of Miss
Stackpole's disappointment.
This lady, however, regarded it very placidly. "I shouldn't have gone if she HAD asked me. That is
I think I shouldn't; and I'm glad I hadn't to make up my mind. It would have been a very difficult
question. I shouldn't have liked to turn away from her, and yet I shouldn't have been happy under
her roof. A pension will suit me very well. But that's not all."
"Rome's very good just now," said the Countess; "there are all sorts of brilliant people. Did you
ever hear of Lord Warburton?"
"Hear of him? I know him very well. Do you consider him very brilliant?" Henrietta enquired.
"I don't know him, but I'm told he's extremely grand seigneur. He's making love to Isabel."
"Making love to her?"
"So I'm told; I don't know the details," said the Countess lightly. "But Isabel's pretty safe."
Henrietta gazed earnestly at her companion; for a moment she said nothing. "When do you go to
Rome?" she enquired abruptly.
"Not for a week, I'm afraid."
"I shall go to-morrow," Henrietta said. "I think I had better not wait."
"Dear me, I'm sorry; I'm having some dresses made. I'm told Isabel receives immensely. But I shall
see you there; I shall call on you at your pension." Henrietta sat still--she was lost in thought; and
suddenly the Countess cried: "Ah, but if you don't go with me you can't describe our journey!"
Miss Stackpole seemed unmoved by this consideration; she was thinking of something else and
presently expressed it. "I'm not sure that I understand you about Lord Warburton."
"Understand me? I mean he's very nice, that's all."
"Do you consider it nice to make love to married women?" Henrietta enquired with unprecedented
distinctness.
The Countess stared, and then with a little violent laugh: "It's certain all the nice men do it. Get
married and you'll see!" she added.
第 301 页 共 391 页
原版英语阅读网
"That idea would be enough to prevent me," said Miss Stackpole. "I should want my own husband;
I shouldn't want any one else's. Do you mean that Isabel's guilty--guilty--?" And she paused a little,
choosing her expression.
"Do I mean she's guilty? Oh dear no, not yet, I hope. I only mean that Osmond's very tiresome and
that Lord Warburton, as I hear, is a great deal at the house. I'm afraid you're scandalised."
"No, I'm just anxious," Henrietta said.
"Ah, you're not very complimentary to Isabel! You should have more confidence. I'll tell you," the
Countess added quickly: "if it will be a comfort to you I engage to draw him off."
Miss Stackpole answered at first only with the deeper solemnity of her gaze. "You don't
understand me," she said after a while. "I haven't the idea you seem to suppose. I'm not afraid for
Isabel--in that way. I'm only afraid she's unhappy--that's what I want to get at."
The Countess gave a dozen turns of the head; she looked impatient and sarcastic. "That may very
well be; for my part I should like to know whether Osmond is." Miss Stackpole had begun a little
to bore her.
"If she's really changed that must be at the bottom of it," Henrietta went on.
"You'll see; she'll tell you," said the Countess.
"Ah, she may NOT tell me--that's what I'm afraid of!"
"Well, if Osmond isn't amusing himself--in his own old way--I flatter myself I shall discover it,"
the Countess rejoined.
"I don't care for that," said Henrietta.
"I do immensely! If Isabel's unhappy I'm very sorry for her, but I can't help it. I might tell her
something that would make her worse, but I can't tell her anything that would console her. What
did she go and marry him for? If she had listened to me she'd have got rid of him. I'll forgive her,
however, if I find she has made things hot for him! If she has simply allowed him to trample upon
her I don't know that I shall even pity her. But I don't think that's very likely. I count upon finding
that if she's miserable she has at least made HIM so."
Henrietta got up; these seemed to her, naturally, very dreadful expectations. She honestly believed
she had no desire to see Mr. Osmond unhappy; and indeed he could not be for her the subject of a
flight of fancy. She was on the whole rather disappointed in the Countess, whose mind moved in a
narrower circle than she had imagined, though with a capacity for coarseness even there. "It will be
better if they love each other," she said for edification.
"They can't. He can't love any one."
"I presumed that was the case. But it only aggravates my fear for Isabel. I shall positively start tomorrow."
"Isabel certainly has devotees," said the Countess, smiling very vividly. "I declare I don't pity her."
"It may be I can't assist her," Miss Stackpole pursued, as if it were well not to have illusions.
"You can have wanted to, at any rate; that's something. I believe that's what you came from
America for," the Countess suddenly added.
第 302 页 共 391 页
原版英语阅读网
"Yes, I wanted to look after her," Henrietta said serenely.
Her hostess stood there smiling at her with small bright eyes and an eager-looking nose; with
cheeks into each of which a flush had come. "Ah, that's very pretty c'est bien gentil! Isn't it what
they call friendship?"
"I don't know what they call it. I thought I had better come."
"She's very happy--she's very fortunate," the Countess went on. "She has others besides." And then
she broke out passionately. "She's more fortunate than I! I'm as unhappy as she--I've a very bad
husband; he's a great deal worse than Osmond. And I've no friends. I thought I had, but they're
gone. No one, man or woman, would do for me what you've done for her."
Henrietta was touched; there was nature in this bitter effusion. She gazed at her companion a
moment, and then: "Look here, Countess, I'll do anything for you that you like. I'll wait over and
travel with you."
"Never mind," the Countess answered with a quick change of tone: "only describe me in the
newspaper!"
Henrietta, before leaving her, however, was obliged to make her understand that she could give no
fictitious representation of her journey to Rome. Miss Stackpole was a strictly veracious reporter.
On quitting her she took the way to the Lung' Arno, the sunny quay beside the yellow river where
the bright-faced inns familiar to tourists stand all in a row. She had learned her way before this
through the streets of Florence (she was very quick in such matters), and was therefore able to turn
with great decision of step out of the little square which forms the approach to the bridge of the
Holy Trinity. She proceeded to the left, toward the Ponte Vecchio, and stopped in front of one of
the hotels which overlook that delightful structure. Here she drew forth a small pocket-book, took
from it a card and a pencil and, after meditating a moment, wrote a few words. It is our privilege to
look over her shoulder, and if we exercise it we may read the brief query: "Could I see you this
evening for a few moments on a very important matter?" Henrietta added that she should start on
the morrow for Rome. Armed with this little document she approached the porter, who now had
taken up his station in the doorway, and asked if Mr. Goodwood were at home. The porter replied,
as porters always reply, that he had gone out about twenty minutes before; whereupon Henrietta
presented her card and begged it might be handed him on his return. She left the inn and pursued
her course along the quay to the severe portico of the Uffizi, through which she presently reached
the entrance of the famous gallery of paintings. Making her way in, she ascended the high staircase
which leads to the upper chambers. The long corridor, glazed on one side and decorated with
antique busts, which gives admission to these apartments, presented an empty vista in which the
bright winter light twinkled upon the marble floor. The gallery is very cold and during the
midwinter weeks but scantily visited. Miss Stackpole may appear more ardent in her quest of
