That sense of quantities, separate or mixed, was indeed doubtless what
most prevailed at first for our slightly gasping American pair; it
found utterance for them in their frequent remark to each other that
they had no one but themselves to thank. It dropped from Milly more
than once that if she had ever known it was so easy--! though her
exclamation mostly ended without completing her idea. This, however,
was a trifle to Mrs. Stringham, who cared little whether she meant that
in this case she would have come sooner. She couldn't have come sooner,
and she perhaps, on the contrary, meant--for it would have been like
her--that she wouldn't have come at all; why it was so easy being at
any rate a matter as to which her companion had begun quickly to pick
up views. Susie kept some of these lights for the present to herself,
since, freely communicated, they might have been a little disturbing;
with which, moreover, the quantities that we speak of as surrounding
the two ladies were, in many cases, quantities of things--and of other
things--to talk about. Their immediate lesson, accordingly, was that
they just had been caught up by the incalculable strength of a wave
that was actually holding them aloft and that would naturally dash them
wherever it liked. They meanwhile, we hasten to add, make the best of
their precarious position, and if Milly had had no other help for it
she would have found not a little in the sight of Susan Shepherd's
state. The girl had had nothing to say to her, for three days, about
the "success" announced by Lord Mark--which they saw, besides,
otherwise established; she was too taken up, too touched, by Susie's
own exaltation. Susie glowed in the light of her justified faith;
everything had happened that she had been acute enough to think least
probable; she had appealed to a possible delicacy in Maud Manningham--a
delicacy, mind you, but _barely_ possible--and her appeal had been met
in a way that was an honour to human nature. This proved sensibility of
the lady of Lancaster Gate performed verily, for both our friends,
during these first days, the office of a fine floating gold-dust,
something that threw over the prospect a harmonising blur. The forms,
the colours behind it were strong and deep--we have seen how they
already stood out for Milly; but nothing, comparatively, had had so
much of the dignity of truth as the fact of Maud's fidelity to a
sentiment. That was what Susie was proud of, much more than of her
great place in the world, which she was moreover conscious of not as
yet wholly measuring. That was what was more vivid even than her
being--in senses more worldly and in fact almost in the degree of a
revelation--English and distinct and positive, with almost no inward,
but with the finest outward resonance.
Susan Shepherd's word for her, again and again, was that she was
"large"; yet it was not exactly a case, as to the soul, of echoing
chambers: she might have been likened rather to a capacious receptacle,
originally perhaps loose, but now drawn as tightly as possible over its
accumulated contents--a packed mass, for her American admirer, of
curious detail. When the latter good lady, at home, had handsomely
figured her friends as not small--which was the way she mostly figured
them--there was a certain implication that they were spacious because
they were empty. Mrs. Lowder, by a different law, was spacious because
she was full, because she had something in common, even in repose, with
a projectile, of great size, loaded and ready for use. That indeed, to
Susie's romantic mind, announced itself as half the charm of their
renewal--a charm as of sitting in springtime, during a long peace, on
the daisied, grassy bank of some great slumbering fortress. True to her
psychological instincts, certainly, Mrs. Stringham had noted that the
"sentiment" she rejoiced in on her old schoolmate's part was all a
matter of action and movement, was not, save for the interweaving of a
more frequent plump "dearest" than she would herself perhaps have used,
a matter of much other embroidery. She brooded, with interest, on this
further remark of race, feeling in her own spirit a different economy.
The joy, for her, was to know _why_ she acted--the reason was half the
business; whereas with Mrs. Lowder there might have been no reason:
"why" was the trivial seasoning-substance, the vanilla or the nutmeg,
omittable from the nutritive pudding without spoiling it. Mrs. Lowder's
desire was clearly sharp that their young companions should also
prosper together; and Mrs. Stringham's account of it all to Milly,
during the first days, was that when, at Lancaster Gate, she was not
occupied in telling, as it were, about her, she was occupied in hearing
much of the history of her hostess's brilliant niece.
They had plenty, on these lines, the two elder women, to give and to
take, and it was even not quite clear to the pilgrim from Boston that
what she should mainly have arranged for in London was not a series of
thrills for herself. She had a bad conscience, indeed almost a sense of
immorality, in having to recognise that she was, as she said, carried
away. She laughed to Milly when she also said that she didn't know
where it would end; and the principal of her uneasiness was that Mrs.
Lowder's life bristled for her with elements that she was really having
to look at for the first time. They represented, she believed, the
world, the world that, as a consequence of the cold shoulder turned to
it by the Pilgrim Fathers, had never yet boldly crossed to Boston--it
would surely have sunk the stoutest Cunarder--and she couldn't pretend
that she faced the prospect simply because Milly had had a caprice. She
was in the act herself of having one, directed precisely to their
present spectacle. She could but seek strength in the thought that she
had never had one--or had never yielded to one, which came to the same
thing--before. The sustaining sense of it all, moreover, as literary
material--that quite dropped from her. She must wait, at any rate, she
should see: it struck her, so far as she had got, as vast, obscure,
lurid. She reflected in the watches of the night that she was probably
just going to love it for itself--that is for itself and Milly. The odd
thing was that she could think of Milly's loving it without dread--or
with dread, at least not on the score of conscience, only on the score
of peace. It was a mercy, at all events, for the hour, that their
fancies jumped together.
While, for this first week that followed their dinner, she drank deep
at Lancaster Gate, her companion was no less happily, appeared to be
indeed on the whole quite as romantically, provided for. The handsome
English girl from the heavy English house had been as a figure in a
picture stepping by magic out of its frame: it was a case, in truth,
for which Mrs. Stringham presently found the perfect image. She had
lost none of her grasp, but quite the contrary, of that other conceit
in virtue of which Milly was the wandering princess: so what could be
more in harmony now than to see the princess waited upon at the city
gate by the worthiest maiden, the chosen daughter of the burgesses? It
was the real again, evidently, the amusement of the meeting for the
princess too; princesses living for the most part, in such an appeased
way, on the plane of mere elegant representation. That was why they
pounced, at city gates, on deputed flower-strewing damsels; that was
why, after effigies, processions, and other stately games, frank human
company was pleasant to them. Kate Croy really presented herself to
Milly--the latter abounded for Mrs. Stringham in accounts of it--as the
wondrous London girl in person, by what she had conceived, from far
back, of the London girl; conceived from the tales of travellers and
the anecdotes of New York, from old porings over _Punch_ and a liberal
acquaintance with the fiction of the day. The only thing was that she
was nicer, for the creature in question had rather been, to our young
woman, an image of dread. She had thought of her, at her best, as
handsome just as Kate was, with turns of head and tones of voice,
felicities of stature and attitude, things "put on" and, for that
matter, put off, all the marks of the product of a packed society who
should be at the same time the heroine of a strong story. She placed
this striking young person from the first in a story, saw her, by a
necessity of the imagination, for a heroine, felt it the only character
in which she wouldn't be wasted; and this in spite of the heroine's
pleasant abruptness, her forbearance from gush, her umbrellas and
jackets and shoes--as these things sketched themselves to Milly--and
something rather of a breezy boy in the carriage of her arms and the
occasional freedom of her slang.
When Milly had settled that the extent of her goodwill itself made her
shy, she had found for the moment quite a sufficient key, and they were
by that time thoroughly afloat together. This might well have been the
happiest hour they were to know, attacking in friendly independence
their great London--the London of shops and streets and suburbs oddly
interesting to Milly, as well as of museums, monuments, "sights" oddly
unfamiliar to Kate, while their elders pursued a separate course, both
rejoicing in their intimacy and each thinking the other's young woman a
great acquisition for her own. Milly expressed to Susan Shepherd more
than once that Kate had some secret, some smothered trouble, besides
all the rest of her history; and that if she had so good-naturedly
helped Mrs. Lowder to meet them this was exactly to create a diversion,
to give herself something else to think about. But on the case thus
postulated our young American had as yet had no light: she only felt
that when the light should come it would greatly deepen the colour; and
she liked to think she was prepared for anything. What she already
knew, moreover, was full to her vision, of English, of eccentric, of
Thackerayan character, Kate Croy having gradually become not a little
explicit on the subject of her situation, her past, her present, her
general predicament, her small success, up to the present hour, in
contenting at the same time her father, her sister, her aunt and
herself. It was Milly's subtle guess, imparted to her Susie, that the
girl had somebody else as well, as yet unnamed, to content, it being
manifest that such a creature couldn't help having; a creature not
perhaps, if one would, exactly formed to inspire passions, since that
always implied a certain silliness, but essentially seen, by the
admiring eye of friendship, under the clear shadow of some probably
eminent male interest. The clear shadow, from whatever source
projected, hung, at any rate, over Milly's companion the whole week,
and Kate Croy's handsome face smiled out of it, under bland skylights,
in the presence alike of old masters passive in their glory and of
thoroughly new ones, the newest, who bristled restlessly with pins and
brandished snipping shears.
It was meanwhile a pretty part of the intercourse of these young ladies
that each thought the other more remarkable than herself--that each
thought herself, or assured the other she did, a comparatively dusty
object and the other a favourite of nature and of fortune. Kate was
amused, amazed at the way her friend insisted on "taking" her, and
Milly wondered if Kate were sincere in finding her the most
extraordinary--quite apart from her being the most charming--person she
had come across. They had talked, in long drives, and quantities of
history had not been wanting--in the light of which Mrs. Lowder's niece
might superficially seem to have had the best of the argument. Her
visitor's American references, with their bewildering immensities,
their confounding moneyed New York, their excitements of high pressure,
their opportunities of wild freedom, their record of used-up relatives,
parents, clever, eager, fair, slim brothers--these the most loved--all
engaged, as well as successive superseded guardians, in a high
extravagance of speculation and dissipation that had left this
exquisite being her black dress, her white face and her vivid hair as
the mere last broken link: such a picture quite threw into the shade
the brief biography, however sketchily amplified, of a mere
middle-class nobody in Bayswater. And though that indeed might be but a
Bayswater way of putting it, in addition to which Milly was in the
stage of interest in Bayswater ways, this critic so far prevailed that,
like Mrs. Stringham herself, she fairly got her companion to accept
from her that she was quite the nearest approach to a practical
princess Bayswater could hope ever to know. It was a fact--it became
one at the end of three days--that Milly actually began to borrow from
the handsome girl a sort of view of her state; the handsome girl's
impression of it was clearly so sincere. This impression was a tribute,
a tribute positively to power, power the source of which was the last
thing Kate treated as a mystery. There were passages, under all their
skylights, the succession of their shops being large, in which the
latter's easy, yet the least bit dry manner sufficiently gave out that
if she had had so deep a pocket----!
It was not moreover by any means with not having the imagination of
expenditure that she appeared to charge her friend, but with not having
the imagination of terror, of thrift, the imagination or in any degree
the habit of a conscious dependence on others. Such moments, when all
Wigmore Street, for instance, seemed to rustle about and the pale girl
herself to be facing the different rustlers, usually so
undiscriminated, as individual Britons too, Britons personal, parties
to a relation and perhaps even intrinsically remarkable--such moments
in especial determined in Kate a perception of the high happiness of
her companion's liberty. Milly's range was thus immense; she had to ask
nobody for anything, to refer nothing to any one; her freedom, her
fortune and her fancy were her law; an obsequious world surrounded her,
she could sniff up at every step its fumes. And Kate, in these days,
was altogether in the phase of forgiving her so much bliss; in the
phase moreover of believing that, should they continue to go on
together, she would abide in that generosity. She had, at such a point
as this, no suspicion of a rift within the lute--by which we mean not
only none of anything's coming between them, but none of any definite
flaw in so much clearness of quality. Yet, all the same, if Milly, at
Mrs. Lowder's banquet, had described herself to Lord Mark as kindly
used by the young woman on the other side because of some faintly-felt
special propriety in it, so there really did match with this,
privately, on the young woman's part, a feeling not analysed but
divided, a latent impression that Mildred Theale was not, after all, a
person to change places, to change even chances with. Kate, verily,
would perhaps not quite have known what she meant by this reservation,
and she came near naming it only when she said to herself that, rich as
Milly was, one probably wouldn't--which was singular--ever hate her for
it. The handsome girl had, with herself, these felicities and
crudities: it wasn't obscure to her that, without some very particular
reason to help, it might have proved a test of one's philosophy not to
be irritated by a mistress of millions, or whatever they were, who, as
a girl, so easily might have been, like herself, only vague and fatally
female. She was by no means sure of liking Aunt Maud as much as she
deserved, and Aunt Maud's command of funds was obviously inferior to
Milly's. There was thus clearly, as pleading for the latter, some
influence that would later on become distinct; and meanwhile,
decidedly, it was enough that she was as charming as she was queer and
as queer as she was charming--all of which was a rare amusement; as
well, for that matter, as further sufficient that there were objects of
value she had already pressed on Kate's acceptance. A week of her
society in these conditions--conditions that Milly chose to sum up as
ministering immensely, for a blind, vague pilgrim, to aid and
comfort--announced itself from an early hour as likely to become a week
of presents, acknowledgments, mementos, pledges of gratitude and
admiration that were all on one side. Kate as promptly embraced the
propriety of making it clear that she must forswear shops till she
should receive some guarantee that the contents of each one she entered
as a humble companion should not be placed at her feet; yet that was in
truth not before she had found herself in possession, under whatever
protests, of several precious ornaments and other minor conveniences.
Great was the absurdity, too, that there should have come a day, by the
end of the week, when it appeared that all Milly would have asked in
definite "return," as might be said, was to be told a little about Lord
Mark and to be promised the privilege of a visit to Mrs. Condrip. Far
other amusements had been offered her, but her eagerness was
shamelessly human, and she seemed really to count more on the
revelation of the anxious lady of Chelsea than on the best nights of
the opera. Kate admired, and showed it, such an absence of fear: to the
fear of being bored, in such a connection, she would have been so
obviously entitled. Milly's answer to this was the plea of her
curiosities--which left her friend wondering as to their odd direction.
Some among them, no doubt, were rather more intelligible, and Kate had
heard without wonder that she was blank about Lord Mark. This young
lady's account of him, at the same time, professed itself as frankly
imperfect; for what they best knew him by at Lancaster Gate was a thing
difficult to explain. One knew people in general by something they had
to show, something that, either for them or against, could be touched
or named or proved; and she could think of no other case of a value
taken as so great and yet flourishing untested. His value was his
future, which had somehow got itself as accepted by Aunt Maud as if it
had been his good cook or his steam-launch. She, Kate, didn't mean she
thought him a humbug; he might do great things--but they were all, as
yet, so to speak, he had done. On the other hand it was of course
something of an achievement, and not open to every one, to have got
one's self taken so seriously by Aunt Maud. The best thing about him,
doubtless, on the whole, was that Aunt Maud believed in him. She was
often fantastic, but she knew a humbug, and--no, Lord Mark wasn't that.
He had been a short time in the House, on the Tory side, but had lost
his seat on the first opportunity, and this was all he had to point to.
However, he pointed to nothing; which was very possibly just a sign of
his real cleverness, one of those that the really clever had in common
with the really void. Even Aunt Maud frequently admitted that there was
a good deal, for her view of him, to come up in the rear. And he wasn't
meanwhile himself indifferent--indifferent to himself--for he was
working Lancaster Gate for all it was worth: just as it was, no doubt,
working _him,_ and just as the working and the worked were in London,
as one might explain, the parties to every relation.
Kate did explain, for her listening friend: every one who had anything
to give--it was true they were the fewest--made the sharpest possible
bargain for it, got at least its value in return. The strangest thing,
furthermore, was that this might be, in cases, a happy understanding.
The worker in one connection was the worked in another; it was as broad
as it was long--with the wheels of the system, as might be seen,
wonderfully oiled. People could quite like each other in the midst of
it, as Aunt Maud, by every appearance, quite liked Lord Mark, and as
Lord Mark, it was to be hoped, liked Mrs. Lowder, since if he didn't he
was a greater brute than one could believe. She, Kate, had not yet, it
was true, made out what he was doing for her--besides which the dear
woman needed him, even at the most he could do, much less than she
imagined; so far as all of which went, moreover, there were plenty of
things on every side she had not yet made out. She believed, on the
whole, in any one Aunt Maud took up; and she gave it to Milly as worth
thinking of that, whatever wonderful people this young lady might meet
in the land, she would meet no more extraordinary woman. There were
greater celebrities by the million, and of course greater swells, but a
bigger _person,_ by Kate's view, and a larger natural handful every
way, would really be far to seek. When Milly inquired with interest if
Kate's belief in _her_ was primarily on the lines of what Mrs. Lowder
"took up," her interlocutress could handsomely say yes, since by the
same principle she believed in herself. Whom but Aunt Maud's niece,
pre-eminently, had Aunt Maud taken up, and who was thus more in the
current, with her, of working and of being worked? "You may ask," Kate
said, "what in the world I have to give; and that indeed is just what
I'm trying to learn. There must be something, for her to think she can
get it out of me. She _will_ get it--trust her; and then I shall see
what it is; which I beg you to believe I should never have found out
for myself." She declined to treat any question of Milly's own "paying"
power as discussable; that Milly would pay a hundred per cent.--and
even to the end, doubtless, through the nose--was just the beautiful
basis on which they found themselves.
These were fine facilities, pleasantries, ironies, all these luxuries
of gossip and philosophies of London and of life, and they became
quickly, between the pair, the common form of talk, Milly professing
herself delighted to know that something was to be done with her. If
the most remarkable woman in England was to do it, so much the better,
and if the most remarkable woman in England had them both in hand
together, why, what could be jollier for each? When she reflected
indeed a little on the oddity of her wanting two at once, Kate had the
natural reply that it was exactly what showed her sincerity. She
invariably gave way to feeling, and feeling had distinctly popped up in
her on the advent of her girlhood's friend. The way the cat would jump
was always, in presence of anything that moved her, interesting to see;
visibly enough, moreover, for a long time, it hadn't jumped anything
like so far. This, in fact, as we already know, remained the marvel for
Milly Theale, who, on sight of Mrs. Lowder, found fifty links in
respect to Susie absent from the chain of association. She knew so
herself what she thought of Susie that she would have expected the lady
of Lancaster Gate to think something quite different; the failure of
which endlessly mystified her. But her mystification was the cause for
her of another fine impression, inasmuch as when she went so far as to
observe to Kate that Susan Shepherd--and especially Susan Shepherd
emerging so uninvited from an irrelevant past--ought, by all the
proprieties, simply to have bored Aunt Maud, her confidant agreed with
her without a protest and abounded in the sense of her wonder. Susan
Shepherd at least bored the niece--that was plain; this young woman saw
nothing in her--nothing to account for anything, not even for Milly's
own indulgence: which little fact became in turn to the latter's mind a
fact of significance. It was a light on the handsome girl--representing
more than merely showed--that poor Susie was simply as nought to her.
This was, in a manner too, a general admonition to poor Susie's
companion, who seemed to see marked by it the direction in which she
had best most look out.
It just faintly rankled in her that a person who was good enough and to
spare for Milly Theale shouldn't be good enough for another girl;
though, oddly enough, she could easily have forgiven Mrs. Lowder
herself the impatience. Mrs. Lowder didn't feel it, and Kate Croy felt
it with ease; yet in the end, be it added, she grasped the reason, and
the reason enriched her mind. Wasn't it sufficiently the reason that
the handsome girl was, with twenty other splendid qualities, the least
bit brutal too, and didn't she suggest, as no one yet had ever done for
her new friend, that there might be a wild beauty in that, and even a
strange grace? Kate wasn't brutally brutal--which Milly had hitherto
benightedly supposed the only way; she wasn't even aggressively so, but
rather indifferently, defensively and, as might be said, by the habit
of anticipation. She simplified in advance, was beforehand with her
doubts, and knew with singular quickness what she wasn't, as they said
in New York, going to like. In that way at least people were clearly
quicker in England than at home; and Milly could quite see, after a
little, how such instincts might become usual in a world in which
dangers abounded. There were more dangers, clearly, round about
Lancaster Gate than one suspected in New York or could dream of in
Boston. At all events, with more sense of them, there were more
precautions, and it was a remarkable world altogether in which there
could be precautions, on whatever ground, against Susie.