The Golden Bowl - Henry James [43]
‘Then why isn’t that enough?’
Nothing was enough, Mrs Assingham signified, but that she should develop her thought. ‘She doesn’t deliberately intend, she doesn’t consciously wish, the least complication. It’s perfectly true that she thinks Maggie a dear – as who doesn’t? She’s incapable of any plan to hurt a hair of her head. Yet here she is – and there they are,’ she wound up.
Her husband again for a little smoked in silence. ‘What in the world, between them, ever took place?’
‘Between Charlotte and the Prince? Why nothing – except their having to recognise that nothing could. That was their little romance – it was even their little tragedy.’
‘But what the deuce did they do?’
‘Do? They fell in love with each other – but, seeing it wasn’t possible, gave each other up.’
‘Then where was the romance?’
‘Why in their frustration, in their having the courage to look the facts in the face.’
‘What facts?’ the Colonel went on.
‘Well, to begin with, that of their neither of them having the means to marry. If she had had even a little – a little, I mean, for two – I believe he would bravely have done it.’ After which, as her husband but emitted an odd vague sound, she corrected herself. ‘I mean if he himself had had only a little – or a little more than a little, a little for a prince. They would have done what they could’ – she did them justice – ‘if there had been a way. But there wasn’t a way, and Charlotte, quite to her honour, I consider, understood it. He had to have money – it was a question of life and death. It wouldn’t have been a bit amusing, either, to marry him as a pauper – I mean leaving him one. That was what she had – as he had – the reason to see.’
‘And their reason is what you call their romance?’
She looked at him a moment. ‘What do you want more?’
‘Didn’t he,’ the Colonel enquired, ‘want anything more? Or didn’t, for that matter, poor Charlotte herself?’
She kept her eyes on him; there was a manner in it that half answered. ‘They were thoroughly in love. She might have been his –’ She checked herself; she even for a minute lost herself. ‘She might have been anything she liked – except his wife.’
‘But she wasn’t,’ said the Colonel very smokingly.
‘She wasn’t,’ Mrs Assingham echoed.
The echo, not loud but deep, filled for a little the room. He seemed to listen to it die away; then he began again. ‘How are you sure?’
She waited before saying, but when she spoke it was definite. ‘There wasn’t time.’
He had a small laugh for her reason; he might have expected some other. ‘Does it take so much time?’
She herself, however, remained serious. ‘It takes more than they had.’
He was detached, but he wondered. ‘What was the matter with their time?’ After which, as, remembering it all, living it over and piecing it together, she only considered, ‘You mean that you came in with your idea?’ he demanded.
It brought her quickly to the point, and as if also in a measure to answer herself. ‘Not a bit of it – then. But you surely recall,’ she went on, ‘the way, a year ago, everything took place. They had parted before he had ever heard of Maggie.’
‘Why hadn’t he heard of her from Charlotte herself?’
‘Because she had never spoken of her.’
‘Is that also,’ the Colonel enquired, ‘what she has told you?’
‘I’m not speaking,’ his wife returned, ‘of what she has told me. That’s one thing. I’m speaking of what I know by myself. That’s another.’
‘You feel in other words that she lies to you?’ Bob Assingham more sociably asked.
She neglected the question, treating it as gross. ‘She never so much, at the time, as named Maggie.’
It was so positive that it appeared to strike him. ‘It’s he then who has told you?’
She after a moment admitted it. ‘It’s he.’
‘And he doesn’t lie?’
‘No – to do him justice. I believe he absolutely doesn’t. If I hadn’t believed