第 二 章 · Chapter II

While this exchange of pleasantries took place between the two Ralph

Touchett wandered away a little, with his usual slouching gait, his

hands in his pockets and his little rowdyish terrier at his heels. His

face was turned toward the house, but his eyes were bent musingly on the

lawn; so that he had been an object of observation to a person who had

just made her appearance in the ample doorway for some moments before

he perceived her. His attention was called to her by the conduct of

his dog, who had suddenly darted forward with a little volley of shrill

barks, in which the note of welcome, however, was more sensible than

that of defiance. The person in question was a young lady, who seemed

immediately to interpret the greeting of the small beast. He advanced

with great rapidity and stood at her feet, looking up and barking hard;

whereupon, without hesitation, she stooped and caught him in her hands,

holding him face to face while he continued his quick chatter. His

master now had had time to follow and to see that Bunchie’s new friend

was a tall girl in a black dress, who at first sight looked pretty.

She was bareheaded, as if she were staying in the house--a fact which

conveyed perplexity to the son of its master, conscious of that immunity

from visitors which had for some time been rendered necessary by the

latter’s ill-health. Meantime the two other gentlemen had also taken

note of the new-comer.

“Dear me, who’s that strange woman?” Mr. Touchett had asked.

“Perhaps it’s Mrs. Touchett’s niece--the independent young lady,” Lord

Warburton suggested. “I think she must be, from the way she handles the

dog.”

The collie, too, had now allowed his attention to be diverted, and he

trotted toward the young lady in the doorway, slowly setting his tail in

motion as he went.

“But where’s my wife then?” murmured the old man.

“I suppose the young lady has left her somewhere: that’s a part of the

independence.”

The girl spoke to Ralph, smiling, while she still held up the terrier.

“Is this your little dog, sir?”

“He was mine a moment ago; but you’ve suddenly acquired a remarkable air

of property in him.”

“Couldn’t we share him?” asked the girl. “He’s such a perfect little

darling.”

Ralph looked at her a moment; she was unexpectedly pretty. “You may have

him altogether,” he then replied.

The young lady seemed to have a great deal of confidence, both in

herself and in others; but this abrupt generosity made her blush. “I

ought to tell you that I’m probably your cousin,” she brought out,

putting down the dog. “And here’s another!” she added quickly, as the

collie came up.

“Probably?” the young man exclaimed, laughing. “I supposed it was quite

settled! Have you arrived with my mother?”

“Yes, half an hour ago.”

“And has she deposited you and departed again?”

“No, she went straight to her room, and she told me that, if I should

see you, I was to say to you that you must come to her there at a

quarter to seven.”

The young man looked at his watch. “Thank you very much; I shall be

punctual.” And then he looked at his cousin. “You’re very welcome here.

I’m delighted to see you.”

She was looking at everything, with an eye that denoted clear

perception--at her companion, at the two dogs, at the two gentlemen

under the trees, at the beautiful scene that surrounded her. “I’ve never

seen anything so lovely as this place. I’ve been all over the house;

it’s too enchanting.”

“I’m sorry you should have been here so long without our knowing it.”

“Your mother told me that in England people arrived very quietly; so I

thought it was all right. Is one of those gentlemen your father?”

“Yes, the elder one--the one sitting down,” said Ralph.

The girl gave a laugh. “I don’t suppose it’s the other. Who’s the

other?”

“He’s a friend of ours--Lord Warburton.”

“Oh, I hoped there would be a lord; it’s just like a novel!” And then,

“Oh you adorable creature!” she suddenly cried, stooping down and

picking up the small dog again.

She remained standing where they had met, making no offer to advance or

to speak to Mr. Touchett, and while she lingered so near the threshold,

slim and charming, her interlocutor wondered if she expected the old man

to come and pay her his respects. American girls were used to a great

deal of deference, and it had been intimated that this one had a high

spirit. Indeed Ralph could see that in her face.

“Won’t you come and make acquaintance with my father?” he nevertheless

ventured to ask. “He’s old and infirm--he doesn’t leave his chair.”

“Ah, poor man, I’m very sorry!” the girl exclaimed, immediately moving

forward. “I got the impression from your mother that he was rather

intensely active.”

Ralph Touchett was silent a moment. “She hasn’t seen him for a year.”

“Well, he has a lovely place to sit. Come along, little hound.”

“It’s a dear old place,” said the young man, looking sidewise at his

neighbour.

“What’s his name?” she asked, her attention having again reverted to the

terrier.

“My father’s name?”

“Yes,” said the young lady with amusement; “but don’t tell him I asked

you.”

They had come by this time to where old Mr. Touchett was sitting, and he

slowly got up from his chair to introduce himself.

“My mother has arrived,” said Ralph, “and this is Miss Archer.”

The old man placed his two hands on her shoulders, looked at her a

moment with extreme benevolence and then gallantly kissed her. “It’s

a great pleasure to me to see you here; but I wish you had given us a

chance to receive you.”

“Oh, we were received,” said the girl. “There were about a dozen

servants in the hall. And there was an old woman curtseying at the

gate.”

“We can do better than that--if we have notice!” And the old man stood

there smiling, rubbing his hands and slowly shaking his head at her.

“But Mrs. Touchett doesn’t like receptions.”

“She went straight to her room.”

“Yes--and locked herself in. She always does that. Well, I suppose I

shall see her next week.” And Mrs. Touchett’s husband slowly resumed his

former posture.

“Before that,” said Miss Archer. “She’s coming down to dinner--at eight

o’clock. Don’t you forget a quarter to seven,” she added, turning with a

smile to Ralph.

“What’s to happen at a quarter to seven?”

“I’m to see my mother,” said Ralph.

“Ah, happy boy!” the old man commented. “You must sit down--you must

have some tea,” he observed to his wife’s niece.

“They gave me some tea in my room the moment I got there,” this young

lady answered. “I’m sorry you’re out of health,” she added, resting her

eyes upon her venerable host.

“Oh, I’m an old man, my dear; it’s time for me to be old. But I shall be

the better for having you here.”

She had been looking all round her again--at the lawn, the great trees,

the reedy, silvery Thames, the beautiful old house; and while engaged

in this survey she had made room in it for her companions; a

comprehensiveness of observation easily conceivable on the part of a

young woman who was evidently both intelligent and excited. She had

seated herself and had put away the little dog; her white hands, in

her lap, were folded upon her black dress; her head was erect, her eye

lighted, her flexible figure turned itself easily this way and that, in

sympathy with the alertness with which she evidently caught impressions.

Her impressions were numerous, and they were all reflected in a clear,

still smile. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful as this.”

“It’s looking very well,” said Mr. Touchett. “I know the way it strikes

you. I’ve been through all that. But you’re very beautiful yourself,” he

added with a politeness by no means crudely jocular and with the happy

consciousness that his advanced age gave him the privilege of saying

such things--even to young persons who might possibly take alarm at

them.

What degree of alarm this young person took need not be exactly

measured; she instantly rose, however, with a blush which was not a

refutation. “Oh yes, of course I’m lovely!” she returned with a quick

laugh. “How old is your house? Is it Elizabethan?”

“It’s early Tudor,” said Ralph Touchett.

She turned toward him, watching his face. “Early Tudor? How very

delightful! And I suppose there are a great many others.”

“There are many much better ones.”

“Don’t say that, my son!” the old man protested. “There’s nothing better

than this.”

“I’ve got a very good one; I think in some respects it’s rather better,”

said Lord Warburton, who as yet had not spoken, but who had kept an

attentive eye upon Miss Archer. He slightly inclined himself, smiling;

he had an excellent manner with women. The girl appreciated it in an

instant; she had not forgotten that this was Lord Warburton. “I should

like very much to show it to you,” he added.

“Don’t believe him,” cried the old man; “don’t look at it! It’s a

wretched old barrack--not to be compared with this.”

“I don’t know--I can’t judge,” said the girl, smiling at Lord Warburton.

In this discussion Ralph Touchett took no interest whatever; he stood

with his hands in his pockets, looking greatly as if he should like to

renew his conversation with his new-found cousin.

“Are you very fond of dogs?” he enquired by way of beginning. He seemed

to recognise that it was an awkward beginning for a clever man.

“Very fond of them indeed.”

“You must keep the terrier, you know,” he went on, still awkwardly.

“I’ll keep him while I’m here, with pleasure.”

“That will be for a long time, I hope.”

“You’re very kind. I hardly know. My aunt must settle that.”

“I’ll settle it with her--at a quarter to seven.” And Ralph looked at

his watch again.

“I’m glad to be here at all,” said the girl.

“I don’t believe you allow things to be settled for you.”

“Oh yes; if they’re settled as I like them.”

“I shall settle this as I like it,” said Ralph. “It’s most unaccountable

that we should never have known you.”

“I was there--you had only to come and see me.”

“There? Where do you mean?”

“In the United States: in New York and Albany and other American

places.”

“I’ve been there--all over, but I never saw you. I can’t make it out.”

Miss Archer just hesitated. “It was because there had been some

disagreement between your mother and my father, after my mother’s death,

which took place when I was a child. In consequence of it we never

expected to see you.”

“Ah, but I don’t embrace all my mother’s quarrels--heaven forbid!”

the young man cried. “You’ve lately lost your father?” he went on more

gravely.

“Yes; more than a year ago. After that my aunt was very kind to me; she

came to see me and proposed that I should come with her to Europe.”

“I see,” said Ralph. “She has adopted you.”

“Adopted me?” The girl stared, and her blush came back to her, together

with a momentary look of pain which gave her interlocutor some alarm. He

had underestimated the effect of his words. Lord Warburton, who appeared

constantly desirous of a nearer view of Miss Archer, strolled toward the

two cousins at the moment, and as he did so she rested her wider eyes on

him.

“Oh no; she has not adopted me. I’m not a candidate for adoption.”

“I beg a thousand pardons,” Ralph murmured. “I meant--I meant--” He

hardly knew what he meant.

“You meant she has taken me up. Yes; she likes to take people up.

She has been very kind to me; but,” she added with a certain visible

eagerness of desire to be explicit, “I’m very fond of my liberty.”

“Are you talking about Mrs. Touchett?” the old man called out from his

chair. “Come here, my dear, and tell me about her. I’m always thankful

for information.”

The girl hesitated again, smiling. “She’s really very benevolent,”

she answered; after which she went over to her uncle, whose mirth was

excited by her words.

Lord Warburton was left standing with Ralph Touchett, to whom in a

moment he said: “You wished a while ago to see my idea of an interesting

woman. There it is!”