This was the way he dealt with his wife, a large proportion of whose meanings he knew he could neglect. He edited, for their general economy, the play of her mind, just as he edited, savingly, with the stump of a pencil, her redundant telegrams. The thing in the world that was least of a mystery to him was his Club, which he was accepted as perhaps too completely managing, and which he managed on lines of perfect penetration. His connection with it was really a master-piece of editing. This was in fact, to come back, very much the process he might have been proposing to apply to Mrs. Assinghams view of what was now before them; that is to their connection with Charlotte Stants possibilities. They wouldnt lavish on them all their little fortune of curiosity and alarm; certainly they wouldnt spend their cherished savings so early in the day. He liked Charlotte, moreover, who was a smooth and compact inmate, and whom he felt as, with her instincts that made against waste, much more of his own sort than his wife. He could talk with her about Fanny almost better than he could talk with Fanny about Charlotte. However, he made at present the best of the latter necessity, even to the pressing of the question he has been noted as having last uttered. If you cant think what to be afraid of, wait till you can think. Then youll do it much better. Or otherwise, if thats waiting too long, find out from HER. Dont try to find out from ME. Ask her herself.
Mrs. Assingham denied, as we know, that her husband had a play of mind; so that she could, on her side, treat these remarks only as if they had been senseless physical gestures or nervous facial movements. She overlooked them as from habit and kindness; yet there was no one to whom she talked so persistently of such intimate things. Its her friendship with Maggie thats the immense complication. Because THAT, she audibly mused, is so natural.
Then why cant she have come out for it?
She came out, Mrs. Assingham continued to meditate, because she hates America. There was no place for her thereshe didnt fit in. She wasnt in sympathyno more were the people she saw. Then its hideously dear; she cant, on her means, begin to live there. Not at all as she can, in a way, here.
In the way, you mean, of living with US?
Of living with anyone. She cant live by visits aloneand she doesnt want to. Shes too good for it even if she could. But she willshe MUST, sooner or laterstay with THEM. Maggie will want herMaggie will make her. Besides, shell want to herself.
Then why wont that do, the Colonel asked, for you to think its what she has come for?
How will it do, HOW?she went on as without hearing him.
Thats what one keeps feeling.
Why shouldnt it do beautifully?
That anything of the past, she brooded, should come back NOW? How will it do, how will it do?
It will do, I daresay, without your wringing your hands over it. When, my dear, the Colonel pursued as he smoked, have you ever seen anything of yoursanything that youve doneNOT do?
Ah, I didnt do this! It brought her answer straight. I didnt bring her back.
Did you expect her to stay over there all her days to oblige you?
Not a bitfor I shouldnt have minded her coming after their marriage. Its her coming, this way, before. To which she added with inconsequence: Im too sorry for herof course she cant enjoy it. But I dont see what perversity rides her. She neednt have looked it all so in the faceas she doesnt do it, I suppose, simply for discipline. Its almostthats the bore of itdiscipline to ME.
Perhaps then, said Bob Assingham, thats what has been her idea. Take it, for Gods sake, as discipline to you and have done with it. It will do, he added, for discipline to me as well.
She was far, however, from having done with it; it was a situation with such different sides, as she said, and to none of which one could, in justice, be blind. It isnt in the least, you know, for instance, that I believe shes bad. Never, never, Mrs. Assingham declared. I dont think that of her.
Then why isnt that enough?
Nothing was enough, Mrs. Assingham signified, but that she should develop her thought. She doesnt deliberately intend, she doesnt consciously wish, the least complication. Its perfectly true that she thinks Maggie a dearas who doesnt? Shes incapable of any PLAN to hurt a hair of her head. Yet here she isand 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, nothingexcept their having to recognise that nothing COULD. That was their little romanceit was even their little tragedy.
But what the deuce did they DO?
Do? They fell in love with each otherbut, seeing it wasnt 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 littlea little, I mean, for twoI 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 littleor a little more than a little, a little for a prince. They would have done what they couldshe did them justiceif there had been a way. But there wasnt a way, and Charlotte, quite to her honour, I consider, understood it. He HAD to have moneyit was a question of life and death. It wouldnt have been a bit amusing, either, to marry him as a pauperI mean leaving him one. That was what she hadas HE hadthe reason to see.
And their reason is what you call their romance?
She looked at him a moment. What do you want more?
Didnt HE, the Colonel inquired, want anything more? Or didnt, 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 likedexcept his wife.
But she wasnt, said the Colonel very smokingly.
She wasnt, 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 wasnt 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 itTHEN. 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.