English fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
They had wandered away from the mass of rotating figures and taken
possession of a couple of seats in a corner outside the dancing-room.
Paul had now an opportunity of observing Miss Brooke more narrowly.
Other partners he had already forgotten. He could hardly have identified
them again. So far as he was concerned, they had got completely lost in
the crowd from which they had temporarily emerged. But of Miss Brooke he
felt sure a perfectly definite picture would remain in his mind. What
struck him most at once was a certain spirit of frank good humour that
seemed to exhale from her, that made him feel, even with her first few
words, as if she were merely resuming an interrupted conversation with
him. Her manner suggested the natural falling-into-step by the side of
an established friend, overtaken _en route_, and it was hard for him to
realise this was really their first talk together.
Paul had never danced with an American girl before, else he would have
been aware of the incompatibility of their steps. His notions of the
American girl--or at least the American girl that comes to Europe--were
of the vaguest. He had in the course of his existence met perhaps two or
three of the class, but he had never really talked to them. He had heard
the American girl spoken of--praised, damned, or tolerated; he had read
about her push and businesslike qualities; and a short time since he had
seen the type portrayed on the stage--a dashing, masterful creature, a
piece of egotism incarnate, with a twang as pronounced as her
self-assertiveness, a terrible determination, and an equally terrible
assurance of carrying it through. But he had never thought about her
coherently; never consciously crystallized these more or less
contradictory notions of her that had come to him in so scattered and
chaotic a fashion. It was quite certain, however, that Miss Brooke had
nothing in common with the monstrosity that had given so much delight to
that English audience, and raised in it a due consciousness of its own
virtue of modest moderation. Nor could he associate her with the
dreadfully improper and unabashable person he had heard more than one
British matron declare the American girl to be.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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