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Updated: June 2, 2025
He had his view, as well or at least a partial one of the inner spring of this present comparative humility, which was all consistent with the retraction he had practically seen her make after Mr. Verver's last dinner.
Quantity was in the air for these good people, and Mr. Verver's estimable quality was almost wholly in that pervasion.
The book was an old novel that the Princess had a couple of days before mentioned having brought down from Portland Place in the charming original form of its three volumes. Charlotte had hailed, with a specious glitter of interest, the opportunity to read it, and our young woman had, thereupon, on the morrow, directed her maid to carry it to Mrs. Verver's apartments.
They were staying on together alone, and oh distinctly! it was alone that Maggie had driven away, her father, as usual, not having managed to come. "'As usual' ?" Mrs. Assingham had seemed to wonder; Mr. Verver's reluctances not having, she in fact quite intimated, hitherto struck her.
He had in fact on this occasion disposed alertly enough of the subject of Mr. Verver's approbation. The promptitude of his answer, we may in fact well surmise, had sprung not a little from a particular kindled remembrance; this had given his acknowledgment its easiest turn.
And of course I shall feel them quainter still," she rather ruefully subjoined, "before they've done with me!" This might be, but it wasn't what most stood in the Colonel's way. "You believe so in Mr. Verver's innocence after two years of Charlotte?" She stared. "But the whole point is just that two years of Charlotte are what he hasn't really or what you may call undividedly had."
Verver's face that, as if a little ashamed of having so markedly produced them and as if also to bring out at last, under pressure, something she had all the while been keeping back she took a jump to pure plain reason. "You haven't noticed for yourself, but I can't quite help noticing, that in spite of what you assume WE assume, if you like Maggie wires her joy only to you.
Fane," each hoping that the other would really stay to tea. Charlotte was sure she should find Maggie there on getting home a remark in which Mrs. Verver's immediate response to her friend's inquiry had culminated. She had thus, on the spot, the sense of having given her plenty to think about, and that moreover of liking to see it even better than she had expected.
"Whose husband's?" "Mr. Verver's," she went on. "The blindness is most of all his. That they feel that they see. But it's also his wife's." "Whose wife's?" he asked as she continued to gloom at him in a manner at variance with the comparative cheer of her contention. And then as she only gloomed: "The Prince's?" "Maggie's own Maggie's very own," she pursued as for herself. He had a pause.
Charlotte had done that under immeasurably fewer difficulties indeed during the numerous months of their hymeneal absence from England, the period prior to that wonderful reunion of the couples, in the interest of the larger play of all the virtues of each, which was now bearing, for Mrs. Verver's stepdaughter at least, such remarkable fruit.
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