Bildungsromans; Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Mothers and daughters -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
“With me, of course?”--Vanderbank met it with encouragement.
The girl said nothing, but Mr. Longdon sought her eyes. “No--with Nanda.
You must mingle in the crowd.”
“Ah,” the their companion laughed, “you two are the crowd!”
“Well--have your tea first.”
Vanderbank on this, giving it up with the air of amused accommodation
that was never--certainly for these two--at fault in him, offered to
Mr. Longdon before departing the handshake of greeting he had omitted; a
demonstration really the warmer for the tone of the joke that went with
it. “Intrigant!”
II
Nanda praised to the satellite so fantastically described the charming
spot she had quitted, with the effect that they presently took fresh
possession of it, finding the beauty of the view deepened as the
afternoon grew old and the shadows long. They were of a comfortable
agreement on these matters, by which moreover they were but little
delayed, one of the pair at least being too conscious, for the hour, of
still other phenomena than the natural and peaceful process that filled
the air. “Well, you must tell me about these things,” Mr. Longdon
sociably said: he had joined his young friend with a budget of
impressions rapidly gathered at the house; as to which his appeal to
her for a light or two may be taken as the measure of the confidence now
ruling their relations. He had come to feel at last, he mentioned, that
he could allow for most differences; yet in such a situation as the
present bewilderment could only come back. There were no differences in
the world--so it had all ended for him--but those that marked at every
turn the manners he had for three months been observing in good society.
The general wide deviation of this body occupied his mind to the
exclusion of almost everything else, and he had finally been brought to
believe that even in his slow-paced prime he must have hung behind his
contemporaries. He had not supposed at the moment--in the fifties and
the sixties--that he passed for old-fashioned, but life couldn’t have
left him so far in the rear had the start between them originally been
fair. This was the way he had more than once put the matter to the girl;
which gives a sufficient hint, it is hoped, of the range of some
of their talk. It had always wound up indeed, their talk, with some
assumption of the growth of his actual understanding; but it was just
these pauses in the fray that seemed to lead from time to time to a
sharper clash. It was apt to be when he felt as if he had exhausted
surprises that he really received his greatest shocks. There were no
such queer-tasting draughts as some of those yielded by the bucket that
had repeatedly, as he imagined, touched the bottom of the well. “Now
this sudden invasion of somebody’s--heaven knows whose--house, and our
dropping down on it like a swarm of locusts: I dare say it isn’t civil
to criticise it when one’s going too, so almost culpably, with the
stream; but what are people made of that they consent, just for money,
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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