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Updated: June 2, 2025
He was being thus, in renewed instalments, perpetually paid in; he already reposed in the bank as a value, but subject, in this comfortable way, to repeated, to infinite endorsement. The net result of all of which, moreover, was that the young man had no wish to see his value diminish. He himself, after all, had not fixed it the "figure" was a conception all of Mr. Verver's own.
"No nothing is incredible to me of people immensely in love." "Well, isn't Amerigo immensely in love?" She hesitated but as for the right expression of her sense of the degree but she after all adopted Mr. Verver's. "Immensely." "Then there you are!" She had another smile, however she wasn't there quite yet. "That isn't all that's wanted." "But what more?"
But it's his innocence, above all," Mrs. Assingham added, "that will pull them through." Her companion, at this, focussed again Mr. Verver's innocence. "It's awfully quaint." "Of course it's awfully quaint!
Maggie had come but to oblige her father she had urged the two others to go without her; then she had yielded, for the time, to Mr. Verver's persuasion.
Nothing perhaps, in truth, had done more than this united participation to confirm in the elder parties that sense of a life not only uninterrupted but more deeply associated, more largely combined, of which, on Adam Verver's behalf, we have made some mention.
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.
"I shall go on," Fanny Assingham a trifle grimly declared, "while there's a scrap as big as your nail. But we're not yet, luckily, reduced only to that." She had another pause, holding the while the thread of that larger perception into which her view of Mrs. Verver's obligation to Maggie had suddenly expanded.
Verver's interest had been booked, established quickly enough their claim to engage the latter's attention; yet at what point of his past did our friend's memory, looking back and back, catch him, in any such place, thinking so much less of wares artfully paraded than of some other and quite irrelevant presence?
I've of course something that in our poor dear backward old Rome sufficiently passes for it. But it's no more like yours than the tortuous stone staircase half-ruined into the bargain! in some castle of our quattrocento is like the `lightning elevator' in one of Mr. Verver's fifteen-storey buildings. Your moral sense works by steam it sends you up like a rocket.
Nothing perhaps, in truth, had done more than this united participation to confirm in the elder parties that sense of a life not only uninterrupted but more deeply associated, more largely combined, of which, on Adam Verver's behalf, we have made some mention.
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