Shes very handsomevery handsome, he repeated while he considered her. There was something noble in her head, and she appeared fresh and strong.
Her good father surveyed her with complacency, remarking soon: She looks too hotthats her walk. But shell be all right presently. Then Ill make her come over and speak to you.
I should be sorry to give you that trouble. If you were to take me over there! the young man murmured.
My dear sir, do you suppose I put myself out that way? I dont mean for you, but for Marian, the General added.
I would put myself out for her soon enough, Overt replied; after which he went on: Will you be so good as to tell me which of those gentlemen is Henry St. George?
The fellow talking to my girl. By Jove, he is making up to hertheyre going off for another walk.
Ah is that hereally? Our friend felt a certain surprise, for the personage before him seemed to trouble a vision which had been vague only while not confronted with the reality. As soon as the reality dawned the mental image, retiring with a sigh, became substantial enough to suffer a slight wrong. Overt, who had spent a considerable part of his short life in foreign lands, made now, but not for the first time, the reflexion that whereas in those countries he had almost always recognised the artist and the man of letters by his personal type, the mould of his face, the character of his head, the expression of his figure and even the indications of his dress, so in England this identification was as little as possible a matter of course, thanks to the greater conformity, the habit of sinking the profession instead of advertising it, the general diffusion of the air of the gentlemanthe gentleman committed to no particular set of ideas. More than once, on returning to his own country, he had said to himself about people met in society: One sees them in this place and that, and one even talks with them; but to find out what they do one would really have to be a detective. In respect to several individuals whose work he was the opposite of drawn toperhaps he was wronghe found himself adding No wonder they conceal itwhen its so bad! He noted that oftener than in France and in Germany his artist looked like a gentlemanthat is like an English onewhile, certainly outside a few exceptions, his gentlemen didnt look like an artist. St. George was not one of the exceptions; that circumstance he definitely apprehended before the great man had turned his back to walk off with Miss Fancourt. He certainly looked better behind than any foreign man of lettersshowed for beautifully correct in his tall black hat and his superior frock coat. Somehow, all the same, these very garmentshe wouldnt have minded them so much on a weekdaywere disconcerting to Paul Overt, who forgot for the moment that the head of the profession was not a bit better dressed than himself. He had caught a glimpse of a regular face, a fresh colour, a brown moustache and a pair of eyes surely never visited by a fine frenzy, and he promised himself to study these denotements on the first occasion. His superficial sense was that their owner might have passed for a lucky stockbrokera gentleman driving eastward every morning from a sanitary suburb in a smart dog-cart. That carried out the impression already derived from his wife. Pauls glance, after a moment, travelled back to this lady, and he saw how her own had followed her husband as he moved off with Miss Fancourt. Overt permitted himself to wonder a little if she were jealous when another woman took him away. Then he made out that Mrs. St. George wasnt glaring at the indifferent maiden. Her eyes rested but on her husband, and with unmistakeable serenity. That was the way she wanted him to beshe liked his conventional uniform. Overt longed to hear more about the book she had induced him to destroy.
II
As they all came out from luncheon General Fancourt took hold of him with an I say, I want you to know my girl! as if the idea had just occurred to him and he hadnt spoken of it before. With the other hand he possessed himself all paternally of the young lady. You know all about him. Ive seen you with his books. She reads everythingeverything! he went on to Paul. The girl smiled at him and then laughed at her father. The General turned away and his daughter spokeIsnt papa delightful?
He is indeed, Miss Fancourt.
As if I read you because I read everything!
Oh I dont mean for saying that, said Paul Overt. I liked him from the moment he began to be kind to me. Then he promised me this privilege.
It isnt for you he means itits for me. If you flatter yourself that he thinks of anything in life but me youll find youre mistaken. He introduces every one. He thinks me insatiable.
You speak just like him, laughed our youth.
Ah but sometimes I want toand the girl coloured. I dont read everythingI read very little. But I have read you.
Suppose we go into the gallery, said Paul Overt. She pleased him greatly, not so much because of this last remarkthough that of course was not too disconcertingas because, seated opposite to him at luncheon, she had given him for half an hour the impression of her beautiful face. Something else had come with ita sense of generosity, of an enthusiasm which, unlike many enthusiasms, was not all manner. That was not spoiled for him by his seeing that the repast had placed her again in familiar contact with Henry St. George. Sitting next her this celebrity was also opposite our young man, who had been able to note that he multiplied the attentions lately brought by his wife to the Generals notice. Paul Overt had gathered as well that this lady was not in the least discomposed by these fond excesses and that she gave every sign of an unclouded spirit. She had Lord Masham on one side of her and on the other the accomplished Mr. Mulliner, editor of the new high-class lively evening paper which was expected to meet a want felt in circles increasingly conscious that Conservatism must be made amusing, and unconvinced when assured by those of another political colour that it was already amusing enough. At the end of an hour spent in her company Paul Overt thought her still prettier than at the first radiation, and if her profane allusions to her husbands work had not still rung in his ears he should have liked herso far as it could be a question of that in connexion with a woman to whom he had not yet spoken and to whom probably he should never speak if it were left to her. Pretty women were a clear need to this genius, and for the hour it was Miss Fancourt who supplied the want. If Overt had promised himself a closer view the occasion was now of the best, and it brought consequences felt by the young man as important. He saw more in St. Georges face, which he liked the better for its not having told its whole story in the first three minutes. That story came out as one read, in short instalmentsit was excusable that ones analogies should be somewhat professionaland the text was a style considerably involved, a language not easy to translate at sight. There were shades of meaning in it and a vague perspective of history which receded as you advanced. Two facts Paul had particularly heeded. The first of these was that he liked the measured mask much better at inscrutable rest than in social agitation; its almost convulsive smile above all displeased him (as much as any impression from that source could), whereas the quiet face had a charm that grew in proportion as stillness settled again. The change to the expression of gaiety excited, he made out, very much the private protest of a person sitting gratefully in the twilight when the lamp is brought in too soon. His second reflexion was that, though generally averse to the flagrant use of ingratiating arts by a man of age making up to a pretty girl, he was not in this case too painfully affected: which seemed to prove either that St. George had a light hand or the air of being younger than he was, or else that Miss Fancourts own manner somehow made everything right.