Didactic fiction; England -- Fiction; Jewish fiction; Jews -- England -- Fiction; Zionists -- Fiction
Deronda looked around for Grandcourt, wondering whether he followed his
bride’s movements with any attention; but it was rather undiscerning to
him to suppose that he could find out the fact. Grandcourt had a
delusive mood of observing whatever had an interest for him, which
could be surpassed by no sleepy-eyed animal on the watch for prey. At
that moment he was plunged in the depth of an easy chair, being talked
to by Mr. Vandernoodt, who apparently thought the acquaintance of such
a bridegroom worth cultivating; and an incautious person might have
supposed it safe to telegraph secrets in front of him, the common
prejudice being that your quick observer is one whose eyes have quick
movements. Not at all. If you want a respectable witness who will see
nothing inconvenient, choose a vivacious gentleman, very much on the
alert, with two eyes wide open, a glass in one of them, and an entire
impartiality as to the purpose of looking. If Grandcourt cared to keep
any one under his power he saw them out of the corners of his long
narrow eyes, and if they went behind him he had a constructive process
by which he knew what they were doing there. He knew perfectly well
where his wife was, and how she was behaving. Was he going to be a
jealous husband? Deronda imagined that to be likely; but his
imagination was as much astray about Grandcourt as it would have been
about an unexplored continent where all the species were peculiar. He
did not conceive that he himself was a likely subject of jealousy, or
that he should give any pretext for it; but the suspicion that a wife
is not happy naturally leads one to speculate on the husband’s private
deportment; and Deronda found himself after one o’clock in the morning
in the rather ludicrous position of sitting up severely holding a
Hebrew grammar in his hands (for somehow, in deference to Mordecai, he
had begun to study Hebrew), with the consciousness that he had been in
that attitude nearly an hour, and had thought of nothing but Gwendolen
and her husband. To be an unusual young man means for the most part to
get a difficult mastery over the usual, which is often like the sprite
of ill-luck you pack up your goods to escape from, and see grinning at
you from the top of your luggage van. The peculiarities of Deronda’s
nature had been acutely touched by the brief incident and words which
made the history of his intercourse with Gwendolen; and this evening’s
slight addition had given them an importunate recurrence. It was not
vanity—it was ready sympathy that had made him alive to a certain
appealingness in her behavior toward him; and the difficulty with which
she had seemed to raise her eyes to bow to him, in the first instance,
was to be interpreted now by that unmistakable look of involuntary
confidence which she had afterward turned on him under the
consciousness of his approach.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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