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Updated: June 12, 2025
My trepidations, however, were delightful; they were just what I had hoped for, and their only fault was that they passed away too quickly; since I found that for the main points I was essentially, I was quite constitutionally, on Mark Ambient's "side."
Miss Ambient asked me if I had enjoyed my walk with her brother and whether we had talked of many things. "Well, of most things," I freely allowed, though I remembered we hadn't talked of Miss Ambient. "And don't you think some of his theories are very peculiar?" "Oh I guess I agree with them all." I was very particular, for Miss Ambient's entertainment, to guess.
My trepidations, however, were delightful; they were just what I had hoped for, and their only fault was that they passed away too quickly; for I found that, as regards most things, I very soon seized Mark Ambient's point of view.
She had, I believe, the usual allowance of rather vain motives: she wished to be looked at, she wished to be married, she wished to be thought original. It costs me a pang to speak in this irreverent manner of one of Ambient's name, but I shall have still less gracious things to say before I've finished my anecdote, and moreover I confess it I owe the young lady a bit of a grudge.
"I am very strong," she said, as she passed into the house, and her slim, flexible figure bent backwards with the filial weight So I never touched Dolcino. I betook myself to Ambient's study, delighted to have a quiet hour to look over his books by myself.
I asked "Surely, he can't tell one from another. Has he read his father's novels?" "He's very precocious and very sensitive, and his mother thinks she can't begin to guard him too early." Miss Ambient's head drooped a little to one side, and her eyes fixed themselves on futurity.
"He lives only two miles away." I reflected that all this was very possibly but a part of the general tragedy of Miss Ambient's view of things; yet I asked her why she hadn't urged that view on her sister-in-law.
Everything was full of expression for Mark Ambient's visitor from the big bandy-legged geese whose whiteness was a "note" amid all the tones of green as they wandered beside a neat little oval pool, the foreground of a thatched and whitewashed inn, with a grassy approach and a pictorial sign from these humble wayside animals to the crests of high woods which let a gable or a pinnacle peep here and there and looked even at a distance like trees of good company, conscious of an individual profile.
I was free, I supposed, to go into the house and write letters, to sit in the drawing-room, to repair to my own apartment and take a nap; but the only use I made of my freedom was to linger still in my chair and say to myself that the light hand of Sir Joshua might have painted Mark Ambient's wife and son.
His sole, his adored little son was more exquisitely beautiful in death than he had been in life. Mrs. Ambient's grief was frantic; she lost her head and said strange things. As for Mark's but I won't speak of that. Basta, basta, as he used to say.
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