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Chapter 6


When he arrived with the three members of his family at the restaurant
of their choice Peter Sherringham was already seated there by one of the
immaculate tables, but Mrs. Dallow was not yet on the scene, and they
had time for a sociable settlement--time to take their places and unfold
their napkins, crunch their rolls, breathe the savoury air, and watch
the door, before the usual raising of heads and suspension of forks, the
sort of stir that accompanied most of this lady's movements, announced
her entrance. The _dame de comptoir_ ducked and re-ducked, the people
looked round, Peter and Nick got up, there was a shuffling of
chairs--Julia had come. Peter was relating how he had stopped at her
hotel to bring her with him and had found her, according to her custom,
by no means ready; on which, fearing his guests would arrive first at
the rendezvous and find no proper welcome, he had come off without her,
leaving her to follow. He had not brought a friend, as he intended,
having divined that Julia would prefer a pure family party if she wanted
to talk about her candidate. Now she stood looking down at the table and
her expectant kinsfolk, drawing off her gloves, letting her brother draw
off her jacket, lifting her hands for some rearrangement of her hat. She
looked at Nick last, smiling, but only for a moment. She said to Peter:
"Are we going to dine here? Oh dear, why didn't you have a private
room?"

Nick had not seen her at all for several weeks and had seen her but
little for a year, but her off-hand cursory manner had not altered in
the interval. She spoke remarkably fast, as if speech were not in itself
a pleasure--to have it over as soon as possible; and her _brusquerie_
was of the dark shade friendly critics account for by pleading shyness.
Shyness had never appeared to him an ultimate quality or a real
explanation of anything; it only explained an effect by another effect,
neither with a cause to boast of. What he suspected in Julia was that
her mind was less pleasing than her person; an ugly, a really blighting
idea, which as yet he had but half accepted. It was a case in which she
was entitled to the benefit of every doubt and oughtn't to be judged
without a complete trial. Nick meanwhile was afraid of the trial--this
was partly why he had been of late to see her so little--because he was
afraid of the sentence, afraid of anything that might work to lessen the
charm it was actually in the power of her beauty to shed. There were
people who thought her rude, and he hated rude women. If he should
fasten on that view, or rather if that view should fasten on him, what
could still please and what he admired in her would lose too much of its
sweetness. If it be thought odd that he had not yet been able to read
the character of a woman he had known since childhood the answer is that
this character had grown faster than Nick's observation. The growth was
constant, whereas the observation was but occasional, though it had
begun early. If he had attempted inwardly to phrase the matter, as he
probably had not, he might have pronounced the effect she produced upon
him too much a compulsion; not the coercion of design, of importunity,
nor the vulgar pressure of family expectation, a betrayed desire he
should like her enough to marry her, but a mixture of divers urgent
things; of the sense that she was imperious and generous--probably more
the former than the latter--and of a certain prevision of doom, the
influence of the idea that he should come to it, that he was
predestined.

This had made him shrink from knowing the worst about her; not the wish
to get used to it in time, but what was more characteristic of him, the
wish to interpose a temporary illusion. Illusions and realities and
hopes and fears, however, fell into confusion whenever he met her after
a separation. The separation, so far as seeing her alone or as
continuous talk was concerned, had now been tolerably long; had lasted
really ever since his failure to regain his seat. An impression had come
to him that she judged that failure rather stiffly, had thought, and had
somewhat sharply said, that he ought to have done better. This was a
part of her imperious way, and a part not _all_ to be overlooked on a
mere present basis. If he were to marry her he should come to an
understanding with her: he should give her his own measure as well as
take hers. But the understanding might in the actual case suggest too
much that he _was_ to marry her. You could quarrel with your wife
because there were compensations--for her; but you mightn't be prepared
to offer these compensations as prepayment for the luxury of
quarrelling.

It was not that such a luxury wouldn't be considerable, our young man
none the less thought as Julia Dallow's fine head poised itself before
him again; a high spirit was of course better than a mawkish to be
mismated with, any day in the year. She had much the same colour as her
brother, but as nothing else in her face was the same the resemblance
was not striking. Her hair was of so dark a brown that it was commonly
regarded as black, and so abundant that a plain arrangement was required
to keep it in natural relation to the rest of her person. Her eyes were
of a grey sometimes pronounced too light, and were not sunken in her
face, but placed well on the surface. Her nose was perfect, but her
mouth was too small; and Nick Dormer, and doubtless other persons as
well, had sometimes wondered how with such a mouth her face could have
expressed decision. Her figure helped it, for she appeared tall--being
extremely slender--yet was not; and her head took turns and positions
which, though a matter of but half an inch out of the common this way or
that, somehow contributed to the air of resolution and temper. If it had
not been for her extreme delicacy of line and surface she might have
been called bold; but as it was she looked refined and quiet--refined by
tradition and quiet for a purpose. And altogether she was beautiful,
with the gravity of her elegant head, her hair like the depths of
darkness, her eyes like its earlier clearing, her mouth like a rare pink
flower.

Peter said he had not taken a private room because he knew Biddy's
tastes; she liked to see the world--she had told him so--the curious
people, the coming and going of Paris. "Oh anything for Biddy!" Julia
replied, smiling at the girl and taking her place. Lady Agnes and her
elder daughter exchanged one of their looks, and Nick exclaimed jocosely
that he didn't see why the whole party should be sacrificed to a
presumptuous child. The presumptuous child blushingly protested she had
never expressed any such wish to Peter, upon which Nick, with broader
humour, revealed that Peter had served them so out of stinginess: he had
pitchforked them together in the public room because he wouldn't go to
the expense of a _cabinet_. He had brought no guest, no foreigner of
distinction nor diplomatic swell, to honour them, and now they would see
what a paltry dinner he would give them. Peter stabbed him indignantly
with a long roll, and Lady Agnes, who seemed to be waiting for some
manifestation on Mrs. Dallow's part which didn't come, concluded, with a
certain coldness, that they quite sufficed to themselves for privacy as
well as for society. Nick called attention to this fine phrase of his
mother's and said it was awfully neat, while Grace and Biddy looked
harmoniously at Julia's clothes. Nick felt nervous and joked a good deal
to carry it off--a levity that didn't prevent Julia's saying to him
after a moment: "You might have come to see me to-day, you know. Didn't
you get my message from Peter?"

"Scold him, Julia--scold him well. I begged him to go," said Lady Agnes;
and to this Grace added her voice with an "Oh Julia, do give it to him!"
These words, however, had not the effect they suggested, since Mrs.
Dallow only threw off for answer, in her quick curt way, that that would
be making far too much of him. It was one of the things in her that Nick
mentally pronounced ungraceful, the perversity of pride or of shyness
that always made her disappoint you a little if she saw you expected a
thing. She snubbed effusiveness in a way that yet gave no interesting
hint of any wish to keep it herself in reserve. Effusiveness, however,
certainly, was the last thing of which Lady Agnes would have consented
to be accused; and Nick, while he replied to Julia that he was sure he
shouldn't have found her, was not unable to perceive the operation on
his mother of that shade of manner. "He ought to have gone; he owed you
that," she went on; "but it's very true he would have had the same luck
as we. I went with the girls directly after luncheon. I suppose you got
our card."

"He might have come after I came in," said Mrs. Dallow.

"Dear Julia, I'm going to see you to-night. I've been waiting for that,"
Nick returned.

"Of course _we_ had no idea when you'd come in," said Lady Agnes.

"I'm so sorry. You must come to-morrow. I hate calls at night," Julia
serenely added.

"Well then, will you roam with me? Will you wander through Paris on my
arm?" Nick asked, smiling. "Will you take a drive with me?"

"Oh that would be perfection!" cried Grace.

"I thought we were all going somewhere--to the Hippodrome, Peter," Biddy
said.

"Oh not all; just you and me!" laughed Peter.

"I'm going home to my bed. I've earned my rest," Lady Agnes sighed.

"Can't Peter take _us_?" demanded Grace. "Nick can take you home, mamma,
if Julia won't receive him, and I can look perfectly after Peter and
Biddy."

"Take them to something amusing; please take them," Mrs. Dallow said to
her brother. Her voice was kind, but had the expectation of assent in
it, and Nick observed both the good nature and the pressure. "You're
tired, poor dear," she continued to Lady Agnes. "Fancy your being
dragged about so! What did you come over for?"

"My mother came because I brought her," Nick said. "It's I who have
dragged her about. I brought her for a little change. I thought it would
do her good. I wanted to see the Salon."

"It isn't a bad time. I've a carriage and you must use it; you must use
nothing else. It shall take you everywhere. I'll drive you about
to-morrow." Julia dropped these words with all her air of being able
rather than of wanting; but Nick had already noted, and he noted now
afresh and with pleasure, that her lack of unction interfered not a bit
with her always acting. It was quite sufficiently manifest to him that
for the rest of the time she might be near his mother she would do for
her numberless good turns. She would give things to the girls--he had a
private adumbration of that; expensive Parisian, perhaps not perfectly
useful, things.

Lady Agnes was a woman who measured outlays and returns, but she was
both too acute and too just not to recognise the scantest offer from
which an advantage could proceed. "Dear Julia!" she exclaimed
responsively; and her tone made this brevity of acknowledgment adequate.
Julia's own few words were all she wanted. "It's so interesting about
Harsh," she added. "We're immensely excited."

"Yes, Nick looks it. _Merci, pas de vin_. It's just the thing for you,
you know," Julia said to him.

"To be sure he knows it. He's immensely grateful. It's really very kind
of you."

"You do me a very great honour, Julia," Nick hastened to add.

"Don't be tiresome, please," that lady returned.

"We'll talk about it later. Of course there are lots of points," Nick
pursued. "At present let's be purely convivial. Somehow Harsh is such a
false note here. _Nous causerons de ça_."

"My dear fellow, you've caught exactly the tone of Mr. Gabriel Nash,"
Peter Sherringham declared on this.

"Who's Mr. Gabriel Nash?" Mrs. Dallow asked.

"Nick, is he a gentleman? Biddy says so," Grace Dormer interposed before
this inquiry was answered.

"It's to be supposed that any one Nick brings to lunch with us--!" Lady
Agnes rather coldly sighed.

"Ah Grace, with your tremendous standard!" her son said; while Peter
Sherringham explained to his sister that Mr. Nash was Nick's new Mentor
or oracle--whom, moreover, she should see if she would come and have tea
with him.

"I haven't the least desire to see him," Julia made answer, "any more
than I have to talk about Harsh and bore poor Peter."

"Oh certainly, dear, you'd bore me," her brother rang out.

"One thing at a time then. Let us by all means be convivial. Only you
must show me how," Mrs. Dallow went on to Nick. "What does he mean,
Cousin Agnes? Does he want us to drain the wine-cup, to flash with
repartee?"

"You'll do very well," said Nick. "You're thoroughly charming to-night."

"Do go to Peter's, Julia, if you want something exciting. You'll see a
wonderful girl," Biddy broke in with her smile on Peter.

"Wonderful for what?"

"For thinking she can act when she can't," said the roguish Biddy.

"Dear me, what people you all know! I hate Peter's theatrical people."

"And aren't you going home, Julia?" Lady Agnes inquired.

"Home to the hotel?"

"Dear, no, to Harsh--to see about everything."

"I'm in the midst of telegrams. I don't know yet."

"I suppose there's no doubt they'll have him," Lady Agnes decided to
pursue.

"Who'll have whom?"

"Why, the local people and the party managers. I'm speaking of the
question of my son's standing."

"They'll have the person I want them to have, I daresay. There are so
many people in it, in one way or another--it's dreadful. I like the way
you sit there," Julia went on to Nick.

"So do I," he smiled back at her; and he thought she _was_ charming now,
because she was gay and easy and willing really, though she might plead
incompetence, to understand how jocose a dinner in a pothouse in a
foreign town might be. She was in good humour or was going to be, and
not grand nor stiff nor indifferent nor haughty nor any of the things
people who disliked her usually found her and sometimes even a little
made him believe her. The spirit of mirth in some cold natures manifests
itself not altogether happily, their effort of recreation resembles too
much the bath of the hippopotamus; but when Mrs. Dallow put her elbows
on the table one felt she could be trusted to get them safely off again.

For a family in mourning the dinner was lively; the more so that before
it was half over Julia had arranged that her brother, eschewing the
inferior spectacle, should take the girls to the Théâtre Français. It
was her idea, and Nick had a chance to observe how an idea was apt to be
not successfully controverted when it was Julia's. Even the programme
appeared to have been prearranged to suit it, just the thing for the
cheek of the young person--_Il ne Faut Jurer de Rien_ and _Mademoiselle
de la Seiglière_. Peter was all willingness, but it was Julia who
settled it, even to sending for the newspaper--he was by a rare accident
unconscious of the evening's bill--and to reassuring Biddy, who was
happy but anxious, on the article of their being too late for good
places. Peter could always get good places: a word from him and the best
box was at his disposal. She made him write the word on a card and saw a
messenger despatched with it to the Rue de Richelieu; and all this
without loudness or insistence, parenthetically and authoritatively. The
box was bespoken and the carriage, as soon as they had had their coffee,
found to be in attendance. Peter drove off in it with the girls,
understanding that he was to send it back, and Nick waited for it over
the finished repast with the two ladies. After this his mother was
escorted to it and conveyed to her apartments, and all the while it had
been Julia who governed the succession of events. "Do be nice to her,"
Lady Agnes breathed to him as he placed her in the vehicle at the door
of the café; and he guessed it gave her a comfort to have left him
sitting there with Mrs. Dallow.

He had every disposition to be nice to his charming cousin; if things
went as she liked them it was the proof of a certain fine force in
her--the force of assuming they would. Julia had her differences--some
of them were much for the better; and when she was in a mood like this
evening's, liberally dominant, he was ready to encourage most of what
she took for granted. While they waited for the return of the carriage,
which had rolled away with his mother, she sat opposite him with her
elbows on the table, playing first with one and then with another of the
objects that encumbered it; after five minutes of which she exclaimed,
"Oh I say, well go!" and got up abruptly, asking for her jacket. He said
something about the carriage and its order to come back for them, and
she replied, "Well, it can go away again. I don't want a carriage," she
added: "I want to walk"--and in a moment she was out of the place, with
the people at the tables turning round again and the _caissière_ swaying
in her high seat. On the pavement of the boulevard she looked up and
down; there were people at little tables by the door; there were people
all over the broad expanse of the asphalt; there was a profusion of
light and a pervasion of sound; and everywhere, though the establishment
at which they had been dining was not in the thick of the fray, the
tokens of a great traffic of pleasure, that night-aspect of Paris which
represents it as a huge market for sensations. Beyond the Boulevard des
Capucines it flared through the warm evening like a vast bazaar, and
opposite the Café Durand the Madeleine rose theatrical, a high artful
_décor_ before the footlights of the Rue Royale. "Where shall we go,
what shall we do?" Mrs. Dallow asked, looking at her companion and
somewhat to his surprise, as he had supposed she wanted but to go home.

"Anywhere you like. It's so warm we might drive instead of going
indoors. We might go to the Bois. That would be agreeable."

"Yes, but it wouldn't be walking. However, that doesn't matter. It's
mild enough for anything--for sitting out like all these people. And
I've never walked in Paris at night. It would amuse me."

Nick hesitated. "So it might, but it isn't particularly recommended to
ladies."

"I don't care for that if it happens to suit me."

"Very well then, we'll walk to the Bastille if you like."

Julia hesitated, on her side, still looking about. "It's too far; I'm
tired; we'll sit here." And she dropped beside an empty table on the
"terrace" of M. Durand. "This will do; it's amusing enough and we can
look at the Madeleine--that's respectable. If we must have something
we'll have a _madère_--is that respectable? Not particularly? So much
the better. What are those people having? _Bocks_? Couldn't we have
_bocks_? Are they very low? Then I shall have one. I've been so
wonderfully good--I've been staying at Versailles: _je me dois bien
cela_."

She insisted, but pronounced the thin liquid in the tall glass very
disgusting when it was brought. Nick was amazed, reflecting that it was
not for such a discussion as this that his mother had left him with
hands in his pockets. He had been looking out, but as his eloquence
flowed faster he turned to his friend, who had dropped upon a sofa with
her face to the window. She had given her jacket and gloves to her maid,
but had kept on her hat; and she leaned forward a little as she sat,
clasping her hands together in her lap and keeping her eyes on him. The
lamp, in a corner, was so thickly veiled that the room was in tempered
obscurity, lighted almost equally from the street and the brilliant
shop-fronts opposite. "Therefore why be sapient and solemn about it,
like an editorial in a newspaper?" Nick added with a smile.

She continued to look at him after he had spoken, then she said: "If you
don't want to stand you've only to say so. You needn't give your
reasons."

"It's too kind of you to let me off that! And then I'm a tremendous
fellow for reasons; that's my strong point, don't you know? I've a lot
more besides those I've mentioned, done up and ready for delivery. The
odd thing is that they don't always govern my behaviour. I rather think
I do want to stand."

"Then what you said just now was a speech," Julia declared.

"A speech?"

"The 'rot,' the humbug of the hustings."

"No, those great truths remain, and a good many others. But an inner
voice tells me I'm in for it. And it will be much more graceful to
embrace this opportunity, accepting your co-operation, than to wait for
some other and forfeit that advantage."

"I shall be very glad to help you anywhere," she went on.

"Thanks awfully," he returned, still standing there with his hands in
his pockets. "You'd do it best in your own place, and I've no right to
deny myself such a help."

Julia calmly considered. "I don't do it badly."

"Ah you're so political!"

"Of course I am; it's the only decent thing to be. But I can only help
you if you'll help yourself. I can do a good deal, but I can't do
everything. If you'll work I'll work with you; but if you're going into
it with your hands in your pockets I'll have nothing to do with you."
Nick instantly changed the position of these members and sank into a
seat with his elbows on his knees. "You're very clever, but you must
really take a little trouble. Things don't drop into people's mouths."

"I'll try--I'll try. I've a great incentive," he admitted.

"Of course you have."

"My mother, my poor mother." Julia breathed some vague sound and he went
on: "And of course always my father, dear good man. My mother's even
more political than you."

"I daresay she is, and quite right!" said Mrs. Dallow.

"And she can't tell me a bit more than you can what she thinks, what she
believes, what she wants."

"Pardon me, I can tell you perfectly. There's one thing I always
immensely want--to keep out a Tory."

"I see. That's a great philosophy."

"It will do very well. And I desire the good of the country. I'm not
ashamed of that."

"And can you give me an idea of what it is--the good of the country?"

"I know perfectly what it isn't. It isn't what the Tories want to do."

"What do they want to do?"

"Oh it would take me long to tell you. All sorts of trash."

"It would take you long, and it would take them longer! All they want
to do is to prevent _us_ from doing. On our side we want to prevent them
from preventing us. That's about as clearly as we all see it. So on both
sides it's a beautiful, lucid, inspiring programme."

"I don't believe in you," Mrs. Dallow replied to this, leaning back on
her sofa.

"I hope not, Julia, indeed!" He paused a moment, still with his face
toward her and his elbows on his knees; then he pursued: "You're a very
accomplished woman and a very zealous one; but you haven't an idea, you
know--not to call an idea. What you mainly want is to be at the head of
a political salon; to start one, to keep it up, to make it a success."

"Much you know me!" Julia protested; but he could see, through the
dimness, that her face spoke differently.

"You'll have it in time, but I won't come to it," Nick went on.

"You can't come less than you do."

"When I say you'll have it I mean you've already got it. That's why I
don't come."

"I don't think you know what you mean," said Mrs. Dallow. "I've an idea
that's as good as any of yours, any of those you've treated me to this
evening, it seems to me--the simple idea that one ought to do something
or other for one's country."

"'Something or other' certainly covers all the ground. There's one thing
one can always do for one's country, which is not to be afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

Nick Dormer waited a little, as if his idea amused him, but he presently
said, "I'll tell you another time. It's very well to talk so glibly of
standing," he added; "but it isn't absolutely foreign to the question
that I haven't got the cash."

"What did you do before?" she asked.

"The first time my father paid."

"And the other time?"

"Oh Mr. Carteret."

"Your expenses won't be at all large; on the contrary," said Julia.

"They shan't be; I shall look out sharp for that. I shall have the great
Hutchby."

"Of course; but you know I want you to do it well." She paused an
instant and then: "Of course you can send the bill to me."

"Thanks awfully; you're tremendously kind. I shouldn't think of that."
Nick Dormer got up as he spoke, and walked to the window again, his
companion's eyes resting on him while he stood with his back to her. "I
shall manage it somehow," he wound up.

"Mr. Carteret will be delighted," said Julia.

"I daresay, but I hate taking people's money."

"That's nonsense--when it's for the country. Isn't it for _them_?"

"When they get it back!" Nick replied, turning round and looking for his
hat. "It's startlingly late; you must be tired." Mrs. Dallow made no
response to this, and he pursued his quest, successful only when he
reached a duskier corner of the room, to which the hat had been
relegated by his cousin's maid. "Mr. Carteret will expect so much if he
pays. And so would you."

"Yes, I'm bound to say I should! I should expect a great
deal--everything." And Mrs. Dallow emphasised this assertion by the way
she rose erect. "If you're riding for a fall, if you're only going in to
miss it, you had better stay out."

"How can I miss it with _you_?" the young man smiled. She uttered a
word, impatiently but indistinguishably, and he continued: "And even if
I do it will have been immense fun."

"It is immense fun," said Julia. "But the best fun is to win. If you
don't----!"

"If I don't?" he repeated as she dropped.

"I'll never speak to you again."

"How much you expect even when you don't pay!"

Mrs. Dallow's rejoinder was a justification of this remark, expressing
as it did the fact that should they receive on the morrow information on
which she believed herself entitled to count, information tending to
show how hard the Conservatives meant to fight, she should look to him
to be in the field as early as herself. Sunday was a lost day; she
should leave Paris on Monday.

"Oh they'll fight it hard; they'll put up Kingsbury," said Nick,
smoothing his hat. "They'll all come down--all that can get away. And
Kingsbury has a very handsome wife."

"She's not so handsome as your cousin," Julia smiled.

"Oh dear, no--a cousin sooner than a wife any day!" Nick laughed as soon
as he had said this, as if the speech had an awkward side; but the
reparation perhaps scarcely mended it, the exaggerated mock-meekness
with which he added: "I'll do any blessed thing you tell me."

"Come here to-morrow then--as early as ten." She turned round, moving to
the door with him; but before they reached it she brought out: "Pray
isn't a gentleman to do anything, to be anything?"

"To be anything----?"

"If he doesn't aspire to serve the State."

"Aspire to make his political fortune, do you mean? Oh bless me, yes,
there are other things."

"What other things that can compare with that?"

"Well, I for instance, I'm very fond of the arts."

"Of the arts?" she echoed.

"Did you never hear of them? I'm awfully fond of painting."

At this Julia stopped short, and her fine grey eyes had for a moment the
air of being set further forward in her head. "Don't be odious!
Good-night," she said, turning away and leaving him to go.

Henry James