A small pink face surmounted by a blue velvet bonnet and set off by a stiff embroidered collar had become the countenance of her childish dreams; and she had firmly believed for some time afterwards that the heavenly hosts conversed among themselves in a queer little dialect of French-English, expressing the properest sentiments, as when Edward told her that he was "defended" by his bonne to go near the edge of the lake, and that one must always obey to one's bonne.Ned Rosier's English had improved; at least it exhibited in a less degree the French variation.His father was dead and his bonne dismissed, but the young man still conformed to the spirit of their teaching- he never went to the edge of the lake.There was still something agreeable to the nostrils about him and something not offensive to nobler organs.He was a very gentle and gracious youth, with what are called cultivated tastes- an acquaintance with old china, with good wine, with the bindings of books, with the Almanach de Gotha, with the best shops, the best hotels, the hours of railway-trains.He could order a dinner almost as well as Mr.Luce, and it was probable that as his experience accumulated he would be a worthy successor to that gentleman, whose rather grim politics he also advocated in a soft and innocent voice.
He had some charming rooms in Paris, decorated with old Spanish altar-lace, the envy of his female friends, who declared that his chimney-piece was better draped than the high shoulders of many a duchess.He usually, however, spent a part of every winter at Pau, and had once passed a couple of months in the United States.
He took a great interest in Isabel and remembered perfectly the walk at Neufchatel, when she would persist in going so near the edge.He seemed to recognize this same tendency in the subversive enquiry that I quoted a moment ago, and set himself to answer our heroine's question with greater urbanity than it perhaps deserved."What does it lead to, Miss Archer? Why Paris leads everywhere.You can't go anywhere unless you come here first.Every one that comes to Europe has got to pass through.You don't mean it in that sense so much?
You mean what good it does you? Well, how can you penetrate futurity? How can you tell what lies ahead? If it's a pleasant road I don't care where it leads.I like the road, Miss Archer; I like the dear old asphalte.You can't get tired of it- you can't if you try.You think you would, but you wouldn't; there's always something new and fresh.Take the Hotel Drouot, now; they sometimes have three and four sales a week.Where can you get such things as you can here? In spite of all they say I maintain they're cheaper too, if you know the right places.I know plenty of places, but I keep them to myself.I'll tell you, if you like, as a particular favour; only you mustn't tell any one else.Don't you go anywhere without asking me first; I want you to promise me that.As a general thing avoid the Boulevards; there's very little to be done on the Boulevards.Speaking conscientiously- sans blague- I don't believe any one knows Paris better than I.You and Mrs.Touchett must come and breakfast with me some day, and I'll show you my things; je ne vous dis que ca! There has been a great deal of talk about London of late; it's the fashion to cry up London.But there's nothing in it- you can't do anything in London.No Louis Quinze- nothing of the First Empire; nothing but their eternal Queen Anne.It's good for one's bed-room, Queen Anne-for one's washing-room; but it isn't proper for a salon.Do I spend my life at the auctioneer's?" Mr.Rosier pursued in answer to another question of Isabel's."Oh no; I haven't the means.I wish I had.You think I'm a mere trifler; I can tell by the expression of your face-you've got a wonderfully expressive face.I hope you don't mind my saying that; I mean it as a kind of warning.You think I ought to do something, and so do I, so long as you leave it vague.But when you come to the point you see you have to stop.I can't go home and be a shopkeeper.You think I'm very well fitted? Ah, Miss Archer, you overrate me.I can buy very well, but I can't sell; you should see when I sometimes try to get rid of my things.It takes much more ability to make other people buy than to buy yourself.When I think how clever they must be, the people who make me buy! Ah no; I couldn't be a shopkeeper.I can't be a doctor; it's a repulsive business.Ican't be a clergyman; I haven't got convictions.And then I can't pronounce the names right in the Bible.They're very difficult, in the Old Testament particularly.I can't be a lawyer; I don't understand-how do you call it?- the American procedure.Is there anything else?
There's nothing for a gentleman in America.I should like to be a diplomatist; but American diplomacy- that's not for gentlemen either.I'm sure if you had seen the last min-"Henrietta Stackpole, who was often with her friend when Mr.
Rosier, coming to pay his compliments late in the afternoon, expressed himself after the fashion I have sketched, usually interrupted the young man at this point and read him a lecture on the duties of the American citizen.She thought him most unnatural; he was worse than poor Ralph Touchett.Henrietta, however, was at this time more than ever addicted to fine criticism, for her conscience had been freshly alarmed as regards Isabel.She had not congratulated this young lady on her augmentations and begged to be excused from doing so.
"If Mr.Touchett had consulted me about leaving you the money,"she frankly asserted, "I'd have said to him 'Never!""I see," Isabel had answered, "You think it will prove a curse in disguise.Perhaps it will.""Leave it to some one you care less for- that's what I should have said.""To yourself for instance?" Isabel suggested jocosely.And then, "Do you really believe it will ruin me?" she asked in quite another tone.