If life at Cocker’s, with the dreadful drop of August, had lost
something of its savour, she had not been slow to infer that a heavier
blight had fallen on the graceful industry of Mrs. Jordan.
With Lord Rye and Lady Ventnor and Mrs. Bubb all out of town, with the
blinds down on all the homes of luxury, this ingenious woman might well
have found her wonderful taste left quite on her hands. She bore up,
however, in a way that began by exciting much of her young friend’s
esteem; they perhaps even more frequently met as the wine of life
flowed less free from other sources, and each, in the lack of better
diversion, carried on with more mystification for the other an
intercourse that consisted not a little in peeping out and drawing
back. Each waited for the other to commit herself, each profusely
curtained for the other the limits of low horizons. Mrs. Jordan was
indeed probably the more reckless skirmisher; nothing could exceed her
frequent incoherence unless it was indeed her occasional bursts of
confidence. Her account of her private affairs rose and fell like a
flame in the wind—sometimes the bravest bonfire and sometimes a handful
of ashes. This our young woman took to be an effect of the position, at
one moment and another, of the famous door of the great world. She had
been struck in one of her ha’penny volumes with the translation of a
French proverb according to which such a door, any door, had to be
either open or shut; and it seemed part of the precariousness of Mrs.
Jordan’s life that hers mostly managed to be neither. There had been
occasions when it appeared to gape wide—fairly to woo her across its
threshold; there had been others, of an order distinctly disconcerting,
when it was all but banged in her face. On the whole, however, she had
evidently not lost heart; these still belonged to the class of things
in spite of which she looked well. She intimated that the profits of
her trade had swollen so as to float her through any state of the tide,
and she had, besides this, a hundred profundities and explanations.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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