THE PRINCESS CASAMASSIMA. Генри ДжеймÑ
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pupil, and which gazed at him across a counterpane of gaudy patchwork. The brown room seemed crowded with heterogeneous objects, and had, moreover, for Hyacinth, thanks to a multitude of small prints, both plain and colored, fastened all over the walls, a highly decorated appearance. The little person in the corner had the air of having gone to bed in a picture-gallery, and as soon as Hyacinth became aware of this his impression deepened that Paul Muniment and his sister were very remarkable people. Lady Aurora hovered before him with a kind of drooping erectness, laughing a good deal, vaguely and shyly, as if there were something rather awkward in her being found still on the premises. “Rosy, girl, I’ve brought you a visitor,” Paul Muniment said. “This young man has walked all the way from Lisson Grove to make your acquaintance.” Rosy continued to look at Hyacinth from over her counterpane, and he felt slightly embarrassed, for he had never yet been presented to a young lady in her position. “You mustn’t mind her being in bed — she’s always in bed,” her brother went on. “She’s in bed just the same as a little trout is in the water.”
“Dear me, if I didn’t receive company because I was in bed, there wouldn’t be much use, would there, Lady Aurora?”
Rosy made this inquiry in a light, gay tone, darting her brilliant eyes at her companion, who replied, instantly, with still greater hilarity, and in a voice which struck Hyacinth as strange and affected, “Oh, dear, no, it seems quite the natural place!” Then she added, “And it’s such a pretty bed, such a comfortable bed!”
“Indeed it is, when your-ladyship makes it up,” said Rosy; while Hyacinth wondered at this strange phenomenon of a peer’s daughter (for he knew she must be that) performing the functions of a housemaid.
“I say, now, you haven’t been doing that again to-day?” Muniment asked, punching the mattress of the invalid with a vigorous hand.
“Pray, who would, if I didn’?” Lady Aurora inquired. “It only takes a minute, if one knows how.” Her manner was jocosely apologetic, and she seemed to plead guilty to having been absurd; in the dim light Hyacinth thought he saw her blush, as if she were much embarrassed. In spite of her blushing, her appearance and man-ner suggested to him a personage in a comedy. She sounded the letter r peculiarly.
“I can do it, beautifully. I often do it, when Mrs. Major doesn’ come up,” Paul Muniment said, continuing to thump his sister’s couch in an appreciative but somewhat subversive manner.
“Oh, I have no doubt whatever!” Lady Aurora exclaimed, quickly. “Mrs. Major must have so very much to do.”
“Not in the making-up of beds, I’m afraid; there are only two or three, down there, for so many,” Paul Muniment remarked, loudly, and with a kind of incongruous cheerfulness.
“Yes, I have thought a great deal about that. But there wouldn’ be room for more, you know,” said Lady Aurora, this time in a very serious tone. “There’s not much room for a family of that sort anywhere — thirteen people, of all ages and sizes,” the young man rejoined. “The world ‘s pretty big, but there doesn’ seem room.”
“We are also thirteen at home;” said Lady Aurora, laughing again. “We are also rather crowded.”
“Surely you don’ mean at Inglefield?” Rosy inquired, eagerly, in her dusky nook.
“I don’ know about Inglefield. I am so much in town.” Hyacinth could see that Inglefield was a subject she wished to turn off, and to do so she added, “We too are of all ages and sizes.
“Well, it ‘s fortunate you are not all your size!” Paul Muniment exclaimed, with a freedom at which Hyacinth was rather shocked, and which led him to suspect that, though his new friend was a very fine fellow, a delicate tact was not his main characteristic. Later, he explained this by the fact that he was rural and provincial, and had not had, like himself, the benefit of metropolitan culture; and later still, he asked himself what, after all, such a character as that had to do with tact or with compliments, and why its work in the world was not most properly performed by the simple exercise of a rude, manly strength.
At this familiar allusion to her stature Lady Aurora turned hither and thither, a little confusedly; Hyacinth saw her high, lean figure sway to and fro in the dim little room. Her commotion carried her to the door, and with ejaculations of which it was difficult to guess the meaning she was about to depart, when Rosy detained her, having evidently much more social art than Paul. “Don’ you see it’s only because her ladyship is standing up that she’s so, you gump? We are not thirteen, at any rate, and we have got all the furniture we want, so that there’s a chair for every one. Do be seated again, Lady Aurora, and help me to entertain this gentleman. I don’ know your name, sir; perhaps my brother will mention it when he has collected his wits. I am very glad to see you, though I don’ see you very well. Why shouldn’ we light one of her ladyship’s candles? It’s very different from that common thing.”
Hyacinth thought Miss Muniment very charming: he had begun to make her out better by this time, and he watched her little wan, pointed face, framed, on the pillow, by thick black hair. She was a diminutive, dark person, pale and wasted with a lifelong infirmity. Hyacinth thought her manner denoted high cleverness; he judged it impossible to tell her age. Lady Aurora said she ought to have gone, long since; but she seated herself, nevertheless, on the chair that Paul pushed toward her.
“Here’s a go!” this young man exclaimed. “You told me your name, but I’ve clean forgotten it.” Then, when Paul had announced it again, he said to his sister, “That won’t tell you much; there are bushels of Robinsons in the north. But you’ll like him; he’s a very smart little fellow; I met him at the Poupins’.” “Puppin” would represent the sound by which he designated the French bookbinder, and that was the name by which Hyacinth always heard him called at Mr. Crookenden’s. Hyacinth knew how much nearer to the right thing he himself came.
“Your name, like mine, represents a flower,” said the little woman in the bed. “Mine is Eose Muniment, and her ladyship’s is Aurora Langrish. That means the morning, or the dawn; it’s the most beautiful of all, don’t you think so?” Eose Muniment addressed this inquiry to Hyacinth, while Lady Aurora gazed at her shyly and mutely, as if she admired her manner, her self-possession and flow of conversation. Her brother lighted one of the visitor’s candles, and the girl went on, without waiting for Hyacinth’s response: “Isn’t it right that she should be called the dawn, when she brings light where she goes? The Puppins are the charming foreigners I have told you about,” she explained to her friend.
“Oh, it’s so pleasant knowing a few foreigners!” Lady Aurora exclaimed, with a spasm of expression, “They are often so very fresh.”
“Mr. Robinson’s a sort of foreigner, and he’s very fresh,” said Paul Muniment. “He meets Mr. Puppin quite on his own ground. If I had his command of the lingo it would give me a lift.”
“I’m sure I should be very happy to help you with your French. I feel the advantage of knowing it,” Hyacinth, remarked, finely, and became conscious that his declaration drew the attention of Lady Aurora towards him; so that he wondered what he could go on to say, to keep at that level. This was the first time he had encountered, socially, a member of that aristocracy to which he had now for a good while known it was Miss Pynsent’s theory that he belonged; and the occasion was interesting, in spite of the lady’s appearing to have so few of the qualities of her caste. She was about thirty years of age; her nose was large, and, in spite of the sudden retreat of her chin, her face was long and lean. She had the manner of extreme nearsightedness; her front teeth projected from her upper gums, which she revealed when she smiled, and her fair hair in tangled, silky skeins (Eose Muniment thought it too lovely) drooped over her pink cheeks. Her clothes looked as if she had worn them a good deal in the rain, and the note of a certain disrepair in her apparel was given by a hole in one of her black gloves, through which a white finger gleamed. She was plain and diffident, and she might have been poor; but in the fine grain and sloping, shrinking slimness of her whole person, the delicacy of her curious features, and a kind of cultivated quality in her sweet, vague, civil expression there was a suggestion of race, of long transmission,