the lesson of the master-第8部分

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〃It's　a　beautiful　day　…　there'll　be　a　great　crowd。　　We're　going　to

look　at　the　people；　to　look　at　types；〃　the　girl　went　on。　　〃We　shall

sit　under　the　trees；　we　shall　walk　by　the　Row。〃



〃I　go　once　a　year　…　on　business；〃　said　St。　George；　who　had

overheard　Paul's　question。



〃Or　with　a　country　cousin；　didn't　you　tell　me？　　I'm　the　country

cousin！〃　she　continued　over　her　shoulder　to　Paul　as　their　friend

drew　her　toward　a　hansom　to　which　he　had　signalled。　　The　young　man

watched　them　get　in；　he　returned；　as　he　stood　there；　the　friendly

wave　of　the　hand　with　which；　ensconced　in　the　vehicle　beside　her；

St。　George　took　leave　of　him。　　He　even　lingered　to　see　the　vehicle

start　away　and　lose　itself　in　the　confusion　of　Bond　Street。　　He

followed　it　with　his　eyes；　it　put　to　him　embarrassing　things。

〃She's　not　for　ME！〃　the　great　novelist　had　said　emphatically　at

Summersoft；　but　his　manner　of　conducting　himself　toward　her

appeared　not　quite　in　harmony　with　such　a　conviction。　　How　could　he

have　behaved　differently　if　she　HAD　been　for　him？　　An　indefinite

envy　rose　in　Paul　Overt's　heart　as　he　took　his　way　on　foot　alone；　a

feeling　addressed　alike　strangely　enough；　to　each　of　the　occupants

of　the　hansom。　　How　much　he　should　like　to　rattle　about　London　with

such　a　girl！　　How　much　he　should　like　to　go　and　look　at　〃types〃

with　St。　George！



The　next　Sunday　at　four　o'clock　he　called　in　Manchester　Square；

where　his　secret　wish　was　gratified　by　his　finding　Miss　Fancourt

alone。　　She　was　in　a　large　bright　friendly　occupied　room；　which　was

painted　red　all　over；　draped　with　the　quaint　cheap　florid　stuffs

that　are　represented　as　coming　from　southern　and　eastern　countries；

where　they　are　fabled　to　serve　as　the　counterpanes　of　the

peasantry；　and　bedecked　with　pottery　of　vivid　hues；　ranged　on

casual　shelves；　and　with　many　water…colour　drawings　from　the　hand

（as　the　visitor　learned）　of　the　young　lady　herself；　commemorating

with　a　brave　breadth　the　sunsets；　the　mountains；　the　temples　and

palaces　of　India。　　He　sat　an　hour　…　more　than　an　hour；　two　hours　…

and　all　the　while　no　one　came　in。　　His　hostess　was　so　good　as　to

remark；　with　her　liberal　humanity；　that　it　was　delightful　they

weren't　interrupted；　it　was　so　rare　in　London；　especially　at　that

season；　that　people　got　a　good　talk。　　But　luckily　now；　of　a　fine

Sunday；　half　the　world　went　out　of　town；　and　that　made　it　better

for　those　who　didn't　go；　when　these　others　were　in　sympathy。　　It

was　the　defect　of　London　…　one　of　two　or　three；　the　very　short　list

of　those　she　recognised　in　the　teeming　world…city　she　adored　…　that

there　were　too　few　good　chances　for　talk；　you　never　had　time　to

carry　anything　far。



〃Too　many　things　…　too　many　things！〃　Paul　said；　quoting　St。

George's　exclamation　of　a　few　days　before。



〃Ah　yes；　for　him　there　are　too　many　…　his　life's　too　complicated。〃



〃Have　you　seen　it　NEAR？　　That's　what　I　should　like　to　do；　it　might

explain　some　mysteries；〃　her　visitor　went　on。　　She　asked　him　what

mysteries　he　meant；　and　he　said：　　〃Oh　peculiarities　of　his　work；

inequalities；　superficialities。　　For　one　who　looks　at　it　from　the

artistic　point　of　view　it　contains　a　bottomless　ambiguity。〃



She　became　at　this；　on　the　spot；　all　intensity。　　〃Ah　do　describe

that　more　…　it's　so　interesting。　　There　are　no　such　suggestive

questions。　　I'm　so　fond　of　them。　　He　thinks　he's　a　failure　…

fancy！〃　she　beautifully　wailed。



〃That　depends　on　what　his　ideal　may　have　been。　　With　his　gifts　it

ought　to　have　been　high。　　But　till　one　knows　what　he　really

proposed　to　himself　…　？　　Do　YOU　know　by　chance？〃　the　young　man

broke　off。



〃Oh　he　doesn't　talk　to　me　about　himself。　　I　can't　make　him。　　It's

too　provoking。〃



Paul　was　on　the　point　of　asking　what　then　he　did　talk　about；　but

discretion　checked　it　and　he　said　instead：　　〃Do　you　think　he's

unhappy　at　home？〃



She　seemed　to　wonder。　　〃At　home？〃



〃I　mean　in　his　relations　with　his　wife。　　He　has　a　mystifying　little

way　of　alluding　to　her。〃



〃Not　to　me；〃　said　Marian　Fancourt　with　her　clear　eyes。　　〃That

wouldn't　be　right；　would　it？〃　she　asked　gravely。



〃Not　particularly；　so　I'm　glad　he　doesn't　mention　her　to　you。　　To

praise　her　might　bore　you；　and　he　has　no　business　to　do　anything

else。　　Yet　he　knows　you　better　than　me。〃



〃Ah　but　he　respects　YOU！〃　the　girl　cried　as　with　envy。



Her　visitor　stared　a　moment；　then　broke　into　a　laugh。　　〃Doesn't　he

respect　you？〃



〃Of　course；　but　not　in　the　same　way。　　He　respects　what　you've　done

…　he　told　me　so；　the　other　day。〃



Paul　drank　it　in；　but　retained　his　faculties。　　〃When　you　went　to

look　at　types？〃



〃Yes　…　we　found　so　many：　　he　has　such　an　observation　of　them！　　He

talked　a　great　deal　about　your　book。　　He　says　it's　really

important。〃



〃Important！　　Ah　the　grand　creature！〃　…　and　the　author　of　the　work

in　question　groaned　for　joy。



〃He　was　wonderfully　amusing；　he　was　inexpressibly　droll；　while　we

walked　about。　　He　sees　everything；　he　has　so　many　comparisons　and

images；　and　they're　always　exactly　right。　　C'est　d'un　trouve；　as

they　say。〃



〃Yes；　with　his　gifts；　such　things　as　he　ought　to　have　done！〃　Paul

sighed。



〃And　don't　you　think　he　HAS　done　them？〃



Ah　it　was　just　the　point。　　〃A　part　of　them；　and　of　course　even　that

part's　immense。　　But　he　might　have　been　one　of　the　greatest。

However；　let　us　not　make　this　an　hour　of　qualifications。　　Even　as

they　stand；〃　our　friend　earnestly　concluded；　〃his　writings　are　a

mine　of　gold。〃



To　this　proposition　she　ardently　responded；　and　for　half　an　hour

the　pair　talked　over　the　Master's　principal　productions。　　She　knew

them　well　…　she　knew　them　even　better　than　her　visitor；　who　was

struck　with　her　critical　intelligence　and　with　something　large　and

bold　in　the　movement　in　her　mind。　　She　said　things　that　startled

him　and　that　evidently　had　come　to　her　directly；　they　weren't

picked…up　phrases　…　she　placed　them　too　well。　　St。　George　had　been

right　about　her　being　first…rate；　about　her　not　being　afraid　to

gush；　not　remembering　that　she　must　be　proud。　　Suddenly　something

came　back　to　her；　and　she　said：　　〃I　recollect　that　he　did　speak　of

Mrs。　St。　George　to　me　once。　　He　said；　apropos　of　something　or

other；　that　she　didn't　care　for　perfection。〃



〃That's　a　great　crime　in　an　artist's　wife；〃　Paul　returned。



〃Yes；　poor　thing！〃　and　the　girl　sighed　with　a　suggestion　of　many

reflexions；　some　of　them　mitigating。　　But　she　presently　added：　　〃Ah

perfection；　perfection　…　how　one　ought　to　go　in　for　it！　　I　wish　I

could。〃



〃Every　one　can　in　his　way；〃　her　companion　opined。



〃In　HIS　way；　yes　…　but　not　in　hers。　　Women　are　so　hampered　…　so

condemned！　　Yet　it's　a　kind　of　dishonour　if　you　don't；　when　you

want　to　DO　something；　isn't　it？〃　　Miss　Fancourt　pursued；　dropping

one　train　in　her　quickness　to　take　up　another；　an　accident　that　was

common　with　her。　　So　these　two　young　persons　sat　discussing　high

themes　in　their　eclectic　drawing…room；　in　their　London　〃season〃　…

discussing；　with　extreme　seriousness；　the　high　theme　of　perfection。

It　must　be　said　in　extenuation　of　this　eccentricity　that　they　were

interested　in　the　business。　　Their　tone　had　truth　and　their　emotion

beauty；　they　weren't　posturing　for　each　other　or　for　some　one　else。



The　subject　was　so　wide　that　they　found　themselves　reducing　it；　the

perfection　to　which　for　the　moment　they　agreed　to　confine　their

speculations　was　that　of　the　valid；　the　exemplary　work　of　art。　　Our

young　woman's　imagination；　it　appeared；　had　wandered　far　in　that

direction；　and　her　guest　had　the　rare　delight　of　feeling　in　their

conversation　a　full　interchange。　　This　episode　will　have　lived　for

years　in　his　memory　and　even　in　his　wonder；　it　had　the　quality　that

fortune　distils　in　a　single　drop　at　a　time　…　the　quality　that

lubricates　many　ensuing　frictions。　　He　still；　whenever　he　likes；

has　a　vision　of　the　room；　the　bright　red　sociable　talkative　room

with　the　curtains　that；　by　a　stroke　of　successful　audacity；　had　the

note　of　vivid　blue。　　He　remembers　where　certain　things　stood；　the

particular　book　open　on　the　table　and　the　almost　intense　odour　of

the　flowers　placed；　at　the　left；　somewhere　behind　him。　　These　facts

were　the　fringe；　as　it　were；　of　a　fine　special　agitation　which　had

its　birth　in　those　two　hours　and　of　which　perhaps　the　main　sign　was

in　its　leading　him　inwardly　and　repeatedly　to　breathe　〃I　had　no

idea　there　was　any　one　like　this　…　I　had　no　idea　there　was　any　one

like　this！〃　　Her　freedom　amazed　him　and　charmed　him　…　it　seemed　so

to　simplify　the　practical　question。　　She　was　on　the　footing　of　an

independent　personage　…　a　motherless　girl　who　had　passed　out　of　her

teens　and　had　a　position　and　responsibilities；　who　wasn't　held　down

to　the　limitations　of　a　little　miss。　　She　came　and　went　with　no

dragged　duenna；　she　received　people　alone；　and；　though　she　was

totally　without　hardness；　the　question　of　protection　or　patronage

had　no　relevancy　in　regard　to　her。　　She　gave　such　an　impression　of

the　clear　and　the　noble　combined　with　the　easy　and　the　natural　that

in　spite　of　her　eminent　modern　situation　she　suggested　no　sort　of

sister…hood　with　the　〃fast〃　girl。　　Modern　she　was　indeed；　and　made

Paul　Overt；　who　loved　old　colour；　the　golden　glaze　of　time；　think

with　some　alarm　of　the　muddled　palette　of　the　future。　　He　couldn't

get　used　to　her　interest　in　the　arts　he　cared　for；　it　seemed　too

good　to　be　real　…　it　was　so　unlikely　an　adventure　to　tumble　into

such　a　well　of　sympathy。　　One　might　stray　into　the　desert　easily　…

that　was　on　the　cards　and　that　was　the　law　of　life；　but　it　was　too

rare　an　accident　to　stumble　on　a　crystal　well。　　Yet　if　her

aspirations　seemed　at　one　moment　too　extravagant　to　be　real　they

struck　him　at　the　next　as　too　intelligent　to　be　false。　　They　were

both　high　and　lame；　and；　whims　for　whims；　he　preferred　them　to　any

he　had　met　in　a　like　relation。　　It　was　probable　enough　s