"Magnificent," said f.a.n.n.y a.s.singham.
Her companion held tight to it. "Magnificent."
"Then he"ll do for himself whatever there may be to do. What he undertook for you he"ll do to the end. He didn"t undertake it to break down; in what--quiet, patient, exquisite as he is--did he ever break down? He had never in his life proposed to himself to have failed, and he won"t have done it on this occasion."
"Ah, this occasion!"--and Maggie"s wail showed her, of a sudden, thrown back on it. "Am I in the least sure that, with everything, he even knows what it is? And yet am I in the least sure he doesn"t?"
"If he doesn"t then, so much the better. Leave him alone."
"Do you mean give him up?"
"Leave HER," f.a.n.n.y a.s.singham went on. "Leave her TO him."
Maggie looked at her darkly. "Do you mean leave him to HER? After this?"
"After everything. Aren"t they, for that matter, intimately together now?"
""Intimately"--? How do I know?"
But f.a.n.n.y kept it up. "Aren"t you and your husband--in spite of everything?"
Maggie"s eyes still further, if possible, dilated. "It remains to be seen!"
"If you"re not then, where"s your faith?"
"In my husband--?"
Mrs. a.s.singham but for an instant hesitated. "In your father. It all comes back to that. Rest on it."
"On his ignorance?"
f.a.n.n.y met it again. "On whatever he may offer you. TAKE that."
"Take it--?" Maggie stared.
Mrs. a.s.singham held up her head. "And be grateful." On which, for a minute, she let the Princess face her. "Do you see?"
"I see," said Maggie at last.
"Then there you are." But Maggie had turned away, moving to the window, as if still to keep something in her face from sight. She stood there with her eyes on the street while Mrs. a.s.singham"s reverted to that complicating object on the chimney as to which her condition, so oddly even to herself, was that both of recurrent wonder and recurrent protest. She went over it, looked at it afresh and yielded now to her impulse to feel it in her hands. She laid them on it, lifting it up, and was surprised, thus, with the weight of it--she had seldom handled so much ma.s.sive gold. That effect itself somehow prompted her to further freedom and presently to saying: "I don"t believe in this, you know."
It brought Maggie round to her. "Don"t believe in it? You will when I tell you."
"Ah, tell me nothing! I won"t have it," said Mrs. a.s.singham. She kept the cup in her hand, held it there in a manner that gave Maggie"s attention to her, she saw the next moment, a quality of excited suspense. This suggested to her, oddly, that she had, with the liberty she was taking, an air of intention, and the impression betrayed by her companion"s eyes grew more distinct in a word of warning. "It"s of value, but its value"s impaired, I"ve learned, by a crack."
"A crack?--in the gold--?"
"It isn"t gold." With which, somewhat strangely, Maggie smiled.
"That"s the point."
"What is it then?"
"It"s gla.s.s--and cracked, under the gilt, as I say, at that."
"Gla.s.s?--of this weight?"
"Well," said Maggie, "it"s crystal--and was once, I suppose, precious.
But what," she then asked, "do you mean to do with it?"
She had come away from her window, one of the three by which the wide room, enjoying an advantageous "back," commanded the western sky and caught a glimpse of the evening flush; while Mrs. a.s.singham, possessed of the bowl, and possessed too of this indication of a flaw, approached another for the benefit of the slowly-fading light. Here, thumbing the singular piece, weighing it, turning it over, and growing suddenly more conscious, above all, of an irresistible impulse, she presently spoke again. "A crack? Then your whole idea has a crack."
Maggie, by this time at some distance from her, waited a moment. "If you mean by my idea the knowledge that has come to me THAT--"
But f.a.n.n.y, with decision, had already taken her up. "There"s only one knowledge that concerns us--one fact with which we can have anything to do."
"Which one, then?"
"The fact that your husband has never, never, never--!" But the very gravity of this statement, while she raised her eyes to her friend across the room, made her for an instant hang fire.
"Well, never what?"
"Never been half so interested in you as now. But don"t you, my dear, really feel it?"
Maggie considered. "Oh, I think what I"ve told you helps me to feel it.
His having to-day given up even his forms; his keeping away from me; his not having come." And she shook her head as against all easy glosses.
"It is because of that, you know."
"Well then, if it"s because of this--!" And f.a.n.n.y a.s.singham, who had been casting about her and whose inspiration decidedly had come, raised the cup in her two hands, raised it positively above her head, and from under it, solemnly, smiled at the Princess as a signal of intention.
So for an instant, full of her thought and of her act, she held the precious vessel, and then, with due note taken of the margin of the polished floor, bare, fine and hard in the embrasure of her window, she dashed it boldly to the ground, where she had the thrill of seeing it, with the violence of the crash, lie shattered. She had flushed with the force of her effort, as Maggie had flushed with wonder at the sight, and this high reflection in their faces was all that pa.s.sed between them for a minute more. After which, "Whatever you meant by it--and I don"t want to know NOW--has ceased to exist," Mrs. a.s.singham said.
"And what in the world, my dear, did you mean by it?"--that sound, as at the touch of a spring, rang out as the first effect of f.a.n.n.y"s speech.
It broke upon the two women"s absorption with a sharpness almost equal to the smash of the crystal, for the door of the room had been opened by the Prince without their taking heed. He had apparently had time, moreover, to catch the conclusion of f.a.n.n.y"s act; his eyes attached themselves, through the large s.p.a.ce allowing just there, as happened, a free view, to the shining fragments at this lady"s feet. His question had been addressed to his wife, but he moved his eyes immediately afterwards to those of her visitor, whose own then held them in a manner of which neither party had been capable, doubtless, for mute penetration, since the hour spent by him in Cadogan Place on the eve of his marriage and the afternoon of Charlotte"s reappearance. Something now again became possible for these communicants, under the intensity of their pressure, something that took up that tale and that might have been a redemption of pledges then exchanged. This rapid play of suppressed appeal and disguised response lasted indeed long enough for more results than one--long enough for Mrs. a.s.singham to measure the feat of quick self-recovery, possibly therefore of recognition still more immediate, accompanying Amerigo"s vision and estimate of the evidence with which she had been--so admirably, she felt as she looked at him--inspired to deal. She looked at him and looked at him--there were so many things she wanted, on the spot, to say. But Maggie was looking too--and was moreover looking at them both; so that these things, for the elder woman, quickly enough reduced themselves to one.
She met his question--not too late, since, in their silence, it had remained in the air. Gathering herself to go, leaving the golden bowl split into three pieces on the ground, she simply referred him to his wife. She should see them later, they would all meet soon again; and meanwhile, as to what Maggie had meant--she said, in her turn, from the door--why, Maggie herself was doubtless by this time ready to tell him.
x.x.xIV
Left with her husband, Maggie, however, for the time, said nothing; she only felt, on the spot, a strong, sharp wish not to see his face again till he should have had a minute to arrange it. She had seen it enough for her temporary clearness and her next movement--seen it as it showed during the stare of surprise that followed his entrance. Then it was that she knew how hugely expert she had been made, for judging it quickly, by that vision of it, indelibly registered for reference, that had flashed a light into her troubled soul the night of his late return from Matcham. The expression worn by it at that juncture, for however few instants, had given her a sense of its possibilities, one of the most relevant of which might have been playing up for her, before the consummation of f.a.n.n.y a.s.singham"s retreat, just long enough to be recognised. What she had recognised in it was HIS recognition, the result of his having been forced, by the flush of their visitor"s att.i.tude and the unextinguished report of her words, to take account of the flagrant signs of the accident, of the incident, on which he had unexpectedly dropped. He had, not unnaturally, failed to see this occurrence represented by the three fragments of an object apparently valuable which lay there on the floor and which, even across the width of the room, his kept interval, reminded him, unmistakably though confusedly, of something known, some other unforgotten image. That was a mere shock, that was a pain--as if f.a.n.n.y"s violence had been a violence redoubled and acting beyond its intention, a violence calling up the hot blood as a blow across the mouth might have called it. Maggie knew as she turned away from him that she didn"t want his pain; what she wanted was her own simple certainty--not the red mark of conviction flaming there in his beauty. If she could have gone on with bandaged eyes she would have liked that best; if it were a question of saying what she now, apparently, should have to, and of taking from him what he would say, any blindness that might wrap it would be the nearest approach to a boon.
She went in silence to where her friend--never, in intention, visibly, so much her friend as at that moment--had braced herself to so amazing an energy, and there, under Amerigo"s eyes, she picked up the shining pieces. Bedizened and jewelled, in her rustling finery, she paid, with humility of att.i.tude, this prompt tribute to order--only to find, however, that she could carry but two of the fragments at once. She brought them over to the chimney-piece, to the conspicuous place occupied by the cup before f.a.n.n.y"s appropriation of it, and, after laying them carefully down, went back for what remained, the solid detached foot. With this she returned to the mantel-shelf, placing it with deliberation in the centre and then, for a minute, occupying herself as with the attempt to fit the other morsels together. The split, determined by the latent crack, was so sharp and so neat that if there had been anything to hold them the bowl might still, quite beautifully, a few steps away, have pa.s.sed for uninjured. But, as there was, naturally, nothing to hold them but Maggie"s hands, during the few moments the latter were so employed, she could only lay the almost equal parts of the vessel carefully beside their pedestal and leave them thus before her husband"s eyes. She had proceeded without words, but quite as if with a sought effect-in spite of which it had all seemed to her to take a far longer time than anything she had ever so quickly accomplished. Amerigo said nothing either-though it was true that his silence had the gloss of the warning she doubtless appeared to admonish him to take: it was as if her manner hushed him to the proper observation of what she was doing. He should have no doubt of it whatever: she _knew_ and her broken bowl was proof that she knew-yet the least part of her desire was to make him waste words. He would have to think-this she knew even better still; and all she was for the present concerned with was that he should be aware. She had taken him for aware all day, or at least for obscurely and instinctively anxious-as to that she had just committed herself to f.a.n.n.y a.s.singham; but what she had been wrong about was the effect of his anxiety. His fear of staying away, as a marked symptom, had at least proved greater than his fear of coming in ; he had come in even at the risk of bringing it with him-and, ah, what more did she require now than her sense, established within the first minute or two, that he had brought it, however he might be steadying himself against dangers of betrayal by some wrong word, and that it was shut in there between them, the successive moments throbbing under it the while as the pulse of fever throbs under the doctor"s thumb?
Maggie"s sense, in fine, in his presence, was that though the bowl had been broken, her reason hadn"t ; the reason for which she had made up her mind, the reason for which she had summoned her friend, the reason for which she had prepared the place for her husband"s eyes ; it was all one reason, and, as her intense little clutch held the matter, what had happened by f.a.n.n.y"s act and by his apprehension of it had not in the least happened to _her_ but absolutely and directly to himself, as he must proceed to take in. There it was that her wish for time interposed-time for Amerigo"s use, not for hers, since she, for ever so long now, for hours and hours as they seemed, had been living with eternity; with which she would continue to live. She wanted to say to him, " Take it, take it, take all you need of it ; arrange yourself so as to suffer least, or to be, at any rate, least distorted and disfigured Only _see_ see that _I_ see, and make up your mind, on this new basis, at your convenience. Wait-it won"t be long-till you can confer again with Charlotte, for you"ll do it much better then-more easily to both of us. Above all don"t show me, till you"ve got it well under, the dreadful blur, the ravage of suspense and embarra.s.sment, produced, and produced by my doing, in your personal serenity, your incomparable superiority."
After she had squared again her little objects on the chimney, she was within an ace, in fact, of turning on him with that appeal; besides its being lucid for her, all the while, that the occasion was pa.s.sing, that they were dining out, that he wasn"t dressed, and that, though she herself was, she was yet, in all probability, so horribly red in the face and so awry, in many ways, with agitation, that in view of the Amba.s.sador"s company, of possible comments and constructions, she should need, before her gla.s.s, some restoration of appearances.