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Four Meetings By: Henry James (1843-1916) |
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By Henry James 1885
I saw her only four times, but I remember them vividly; she made an
impression upon me. I thought her very pretty and very interesting, a
charming specimen of a type. I am very sorry to hear of her death; and
yet, when I think of it, why should I be sorry? The last time I saw her
she was certainly not But I will describe all our meetings in order.
I. The first one took place in the country, at a little tea party, one
snowy night. It must have been some seventeen years ago. My friend
Latouche, going to spend Christmas with his mother, had persuaded me to
go with him, and the good lady had given in our honor the entertainment
of which I speak. To me it was really entertaining; I had never been in
the depths of New England at that season. It had been snowing all day,
and the drifts were knee high. I wondered how the ladies had made their
way to the house; but I perceived that at Grimwinter a conversazione
offering the attraction of two gentlemen from New York was felt to be
worth an effort. Mrs. Latouche, in the course of the evening, asked me if I "did n't want
to" show the photographs to some of the young ladies. The photographs
were in a couple of great portfolios, and had been brought home by her
son, who, like myself, was lately returned from Europe. I looked round
and was struck with the fact that most of the young ladies were
provided with an object of interest more absorbing than the most
vivid sun picture. But there was a person standing alone near the
mantelshelf, and looking round the room with a small gentle smile which
seemed at odds, somehow, with her isolation. I looked at her a moment,
and then said, "I should like to show them to that young lady." "Oh, yes," said Mrs. Latouche, "she is just the person. She doesn't care
for flirting; I will speak to her." I rejoined that if she did not care for flirting, she was, perhaps,
not just the person; but Mrs. Latouche had already gone to propose the
photographs to her. "She's delighted," she said, coming back. "She is just the person, so
quiet and so bright." And then she told me the young lady was, by name,
Miss Caroline Spencer, and with this she introduced me. Miss Caroline Spencer was not exactly a beauty, but she was a charming
little figure. She must have been close upon thirty, but she was made
almost like a little girl, and she had the complexion of a child. She
had a very pretty head, and her hair was arranged as nearly as possible
like the hair of a Greek bust, though indeed it was to be doubted if she
had ever seen a Greek bust. She was "artistic," I suspected, so far as
Grimwinter allowed such tendencies. She had a soft, surprised eye, and
thin lips, with very pretty teeth. Round her neck she wore what ladies
call, I believe, a "ruche," fastened with a very small pin in pink
coral, and in her hand she carried a fan made of plaited straw and
adorned with pink ribbon. She wore a scanty black silk dress. She spoke
with a kind of soft precision, showing her white teeth between her
narrow but tender looking lips, and she seemed extremely pleased, even
a little fluttered, at the prospect of my demonstrations. These went
forward very smoothly, after I had moved the portfolios out of their
corner and placed a couple of chairs near a lamp. The photographs were
usually things I knew, large views of Switzerland, Italy, and Spain,
landscapes, copies of famous buildings, pictures, and statues. I said
what I could about them, and my companion, looking at them as I
held them up, sat perfectly still, with her straw fan raised to her
underlip. Occasionally, as I laid one of the pictures down, she said
very softly, "Have you seen that place?" I usually answered that I had
seen it several times (I had been a great traveller), and then I felt
that she looked at me askance for a moment with her pretty eyes. I had
asked her at the outset whether she had been to Europe; to this she
answered, "No, no, no," in a little quick, confidential whisper... Continue reading book >>
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