wrongs. She bored me to extinction, and I knew but too well how
she had bored her husband; but there were those who stood by her,
the most
efficient of whom were indeed the
handful of poor
Saltram's backers. They did her
liberal justice,
whereas her mere
patrons and partisans had nothing but
hatred for our philosopher.
I'm bound to say it was we, however--we of both camps, as it were--
who had always done most for her.
I thought my young lady looked rich--I
scarcely knew why; and I
hoped she had put her hand in her pocket. I soon made her out,
however, not at all a fine fanatic--she was but a generous,
irresponsible enquirer. She had come to England to see her aunt,
and it was at her aunt's she had met the
dreary lady we had all so
much on our mind. I saw she'd help to pass the time when she
observed that it was a pity this lady wasn't intrinsically more
interesting. That was
refreshing, for it was an article of faith
in Mrs. Saltram's circle--at least among those who scorned to know
her
horrid husband--that she was
attractive on her merits. She was
in truth a most ordinary person, as Saltram himself would have been
if he hadn't been a prodigy. The question of vulgarity had no
application to him, but it was a
measure his wife kept challenging
you to apply. I
hasten to add that the consequences of your doing
so were no sufficient reason for his having left her to starve.
"He doesn't seem to have much force of character," said my young
lady; at which I laughed out so loud that my departing friends
looked back at me over their shoulders as if I were making a joke
of their discomfiture. My joke probably cost Saltram a
subscription or two, but it helped me on with my interlocutress.
"She says he drinks like a fish," she sociably continued, "and yet
she allows that his mind's
wonderfully clear." It was
amusing to
converse with a pretty girl who could talk of the
clearness of
Saltram's mind. I expected next to hear she had been
assured he
was
awfully clever. I tried to tell her--I had it almost on my
conscience--what was the proper way to regard him; an effort
attended perhaps more than ever on this occasion with the usual
effect of my feeling that I wasn't after all very sure of it. She
had come to-night out of high curiosity--she had wanted to learn
this proper way for herself. She had read some of his papers and
hadn't understood them; but it was at home, at her aunt's, that her
curiosity had been kindled--kindled
mainly by his wife's remarkable
stories of his want of
virtue. "I suppose they ought to have kept
me away," my
companion dropped, "and I suppose they'd have done so
if I hadn't somehow got an idea that he's
fascinating. In fact
Mrs. Saltram herself says he is."
"So you came to see where the
fascination resides? Well, you've
seen!"
My young lady raised fine eyebrows. "Do you mean in his bad
faith?"
"In the
extraordinary effects of it; his possession, that is, of
some quality or other that condemns us in advance to
forgive him
the
humiliation, as I may call it, to which he has subjected us."
"The
humiliation?"
"Why mine, for
instance, as one of his guarantors, before you as
the
purchaser of a ticket."
She let her
charming gay eyes rest on me. "You don't look
humiliated a bit, and if you did I should let you off, disap
pointedas I am; for the
mysterious quality you speak of is just the
quality I came to see."
"Oh, you can't 'see' it!" I cried.
"How then do you get at it?"
"You don't! You mustn't suppose he's good-looking," I added.
"Why his wife says he's lovely!"
My hilarity may have struck her as
excessive, but I
confess it
broke out afresh. Had she acted only in
obedience to this singular
plea, so
characteristic, on Mrs. Saltram's part, of what was
irritating in the narrowness of that lady's point of view? "Mrs.
Saltram," I explained, "undervalues him where he's strongest, so
that, to make up for it perhaps, she overpraises him where he's