Book contents
- Frontmatter
- Contents
- List of Illustrations
- Acknowledgements
- List of Abbreviations
- General Editors’ Preface
- General Chronology of James’s Life and Writings
- Introduction
- Contemporary Reception of The Sacred Fount
- Textual Introduction
- Chronology of Composition and Production
- Bibliography
- The Sacred Fount
- Glossary of Foreign Words and Phrases
- Notes
- Textual Variants
- Emendations
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Published online by Cambridge University Press: 11 April 2021
- Frontmatter
- Contents
- List of Illustrations
- Acknowledgements
- List of Abbreviations
- General Editors’ Preface
- General Chronology of James’s Life and Writings
- Introduction
- Contemporary Reception of The Sacred Fount
- Textual Introduction
- Chronology of Composition and Production
- Bibliography
- The Sacred Fount
- Glossary of Foreign Words and Phrases
- Notes
- Textual Variants
- Emendations
Summary
IT was in the moment of turning away that I somehow learned, without looking, that Mrs. Brissenden had also immediately moved. I wanted to look and yet had my reasons for not appearing to do it too quickly; in spite of which I found my friends, even after an interval, still distinguishable as separating for the avoidance of comment. Gilbert Long, rising directly after his associate, had already walked away, but this associate, lingering where she stood and meeting me with it, availed herself of the occasion to show that she wished to speak to me. Such was the idea she threw out on my forthwith going to her. “For a few minutes—presently.”
“Do you mean alone? Shall I come with you?”
She hesitated long enough for me to judge her as a trifle surprised at my being so ready—as if indeed she had rather hoped I wouldn't be; which would have been an easy pretext to her to gain time. In fact, with a face not quite like the brave face she had at each step hitherto shown me, yet unlike in a fashion I should certainly not have been able to define on the spot; with an expression, in short, that struck me as taking refuge in a general reminder that not my convenience, but her own, was in question, she replied: “Oh, no—but before it's too late. A few minutes hence. Where shall you be?” she asked with a shade, as I imagined, of awkwardness. She had looked about as for symptoms of acceptance of the evening's end on the part of the ladies, but we could both see our hostess otherwise occupied. “We don't go up quite yet. In the morning,” she added as with an afterthought, “I suppose you leave early.”
I debated. “I haven't thought. And you?”
She looked at me straighter now. “I haven't thought either.” Then she was silent, neither turning away nor coming to the point, as it seemed to me she might have done, of telling me what she had in her head. I even fancied that her momentary silence, combined with the way she faced me—as if that might speak for her—was meant for an assurance that, whatever train she should take in the morning, she would arrange that it shouldn't be, as it had been the day before, the same as mine.
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- The Sacred Fount , pp. 108 - 118Publisher: Cambridge University PressPrint publication year: 2019