Mr. Longdon listened with a visible recovery. He used to talk to meI remember he asked me questions I couldnt answer and made me dreadfully ashamed. But I lent him bookspartly, upon my honour, to make him think that as I had them I did know something. He read everything and had a lot to say about it. I used to tell your mother he had a great future.
Vanderbank shook his head sadly and kindly. So he had. And you remember Nancy, who was handsome and who was usually with them? he went on.
Mr. Longdon looked so uncertain that he explained he meant his other sister; on which his companion said: Oh her? Yes, she was charmingshe evidently had a future too.
Well, shes in the midst of her future now. Shes married.
And whom did she marry?
A fellow called Toovey. A man in the City.
Oh! said Mr. Longdon a little blankly. Then as if to retrieve his blankness: But why do you call her Nancy? Wasnt her name Blanche?
ExactlyBlanche Bertha Vanderbank.
Mr. Longdon looked half-mystified and half-distressed. And now shes Nancy Toovey?
Vanderbank broke into laughter at his dismay. Thats what every one calls her.
But why?
Nobody knows. You see you were right about her future.
Mr. Longdon gave another of his soft smothered sighs; he had turned back again to the first photograph, which he looked at for a longer time. Well, it wasnt HER way.
My mothers? No indeed. Oh my mothers way! Vanderbank waited, then added gravely: She was taken in time.
Mr. Longdon turned half-round as to reply to this, but instead of replying proceeded afresh to an examination of the expressive oval in the red plush frame. He took up little Aggie, who appeared to interest him, and abruptly observed: Nanda isnt so pretty.
No, not nearly. Theres a great question whether Nandas pretty at all.
Mr. Longdon continued to inspect her more favoured friend; which led him after a moment to bring out: She ought to be, you know. Her grandmother was.
Oh and her mother, Vanderbank threw in. Dont you think Mrs. Brookenham lovely?
Mr. Longdon kept him waiting a little. Not so lovely as Lady Julia. Lady Julia had! He faltered; then, as if there were too much to say, disposed of the question. Lady Julia had everything.
Vanderbank gathered hence an impression that determined him more and more to diplomacy. But isnt that just what Mrs. Brookenham has?
This time the old man was prompt. Yes, shes very brilliant, but its a totally different thing. He laid little Aggie down and moved away as without a purpose; but his friend presently perceived his purpose to be another glance at the other young lady. As if all accidentally and absently he bent again over the portrait of Nanda. Lady Julia was exquisite and this childs exactly like her.
Vanderbank, more and more conscious of something working in him, was more and more interested. If Nandas so like her, WAS she so exquisite?
Oh yes; every one was agreed about that. Mr. Longdon kept his eyes on the face, trying a little, Vanderbank even thought, to conceal his own. She was one of the greatest beauties of her day.
Then IS Nanda so like her? Vanderbank persisted, amused at his friends transparency.
Extraordinarily. Her mother told me all about her.
Told you shes as beautiful as her grandmother?
Mr. Longdon turned it over. Well, that she has just Lady Julias expression. She absolutely HAS itI see it here. He was delightfully positive. Shes much more like the dead than like the living.
Vanderbank saw in this too many deep things not to follow them up. One of these was, to begin with, that his guest had not more than half-succumbed to Mrs. Brookenhams attraction, if indeed he had by a fine originality not resisted it altogether. That in itself, for an observer deeply versed in this lady, was attaching and beguiling. Another indication was that he found himself, in spite of such a break in the chain, distinctly predisposed to Nanda. If she reproduces then so vividly Lady Julia, the young man threw out, why does she strike you as so much less pretty than her foreign friend there, who is after all by no means a prodigy?
The subject of this address, with one of the photographs in his hand, glanced, while he reflected, at the other. Then with a subtlety that matched itself for the moment with Vanderbanks: You just told me yourself that the little foreign person
Is ever so much the lovelier of the two? So I did. But youve promptly recognised it. Its the first time, Vanderbank went on, to let him down more gently, that Ive heard Mrs. Brookenham admit the girls good looks.
Her own girls? Admit them?
I mean grant them to be even as good as they are. I myself, I must tell you, extremely like Nandas appearance. I think Lady Julias granddaughter has in her face, in spite of everything!
What do you mean by everything? Mr. Longdon broke in with such an approach to resentment that his hosts gaiety overflowed.
Youll seewhen you do see. She has no features. No, not one, Vanderbank inexorably pursued; unless indeed you put it that she has two or three too many. What I was going to say was that she has in her expression all thats charming in her nature. But beauty, in Londonand feeling that he held his visitors attention he gave himself the pleasure of freely presenting his ideastaring glaring obvious knock-down beauty, as plain as a poster on a wall, an advertisement of soap or whiskey, something that speaks to the crowd and crosses the footlights, fetches such a price in the market that the absence of it, for a woman with a girl to marry, inspires endless terrors and constitutes for the wretched pair (to speak of mother and daughter alone) a sort of social bankruptcy. London doesnt love the latent or the lurking, has neither time nor taste nor sense for anything less discernible than the red flag in front of the steam-roller. It wants cash over the counter and letters ten feet high. Therefore you see its all as yet rather a dark question for poor Nandaa question that in a way quite occupies the foreground of her mothers earnest little life. How WILL she look, what will be thought of her and what will she be able to do for herself? Shes at the age when the whole thingspeaking of her attractions, her possible share of good looksis still to a degree in a fog. But everything depends on it.
Mr. Longdon had by this time come back to him. Excuse my asking it againfor you take such jumps: what, once more, do you mean by everything?
Why naturally her marrying. Above all her marrying early.
Mr. Longdon stood before the sofa. What do you mean by early?
Well, we do doubtless get up later than at Beccles; but that gives us, you see, shorter days. I mean in a couple of seasons. Soon enough, Vanderbank developed, to limit the strain! He was moved to higher gaiety by his friends expression.
What do you mean by the strain?
Well, the complication of her being there.
Being where?
You do put one through! Vanderbank laughed. But he showed himself perfectly prepared. Out of the school-room and where she is now. In her mothers drawing-room. At her mothers fireside.
Mr. Longdon stared. But where else should she be?
At her husbands, dont you see?
He looked as if he quite saw, yet was nevertheless not to be put off from his original challenge. Ah certainly; but not as if she had been pushed down the chimney. All in good time.