Miss Stackpole

“ Ralph Touchett had been joined in his visit to the excavation by Miss Stackpole and her attendant, and these three now emerged from among the mounds of earth and stone collected round the aperture and came into sight of Isabel and her companion. Poor Ralph hailed his friend with joy qualified by wonder, and Henrietta exclaimed in a high voice “Gracious, there’s that lord!” Ralph and his English neighbour greeted with the austerity with which, after long separations, English neighbours greet, and Miss Stackpole rested her large intellectual gaze upon the sunburnt traveller. ”

“ Ralph went on.
Miss Stackpole gazed at him still. “Do you mean the foreign languages?”
“The languages are nothing. I mean the spirit—the genius.”
“I’m not sure that I understand you,” said the correspondent of the Interviewer; “but I expect I shall before I leave.”
“He’s what’s called a cosmopolite,” Isabel suggested.
“That means he’s a little of everything and not much of any. I must say I think patriotism is like charity—it begins at home.”
“Ah, but where does home begin, Miss Stackpole?” Ralph enquired. ”

“ This contribution to the discussion, however, Miss Stackpole rejected with scorn. Middling indeed! If they were not the best in the world they were the worst, but there was nothing middling about an American hotel.
“We judge from different points of view, evidently,” said Mrs. Touchett. “I like to be treated as an individual; you like to be treated as a ‘party.’”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Henrietta replied. “I like to be treated as an American lady.”
“Poor American ladies!” cried Mrs. Touchett with a laugh. “They’re the slaves of slaves.” ”

“ Miss Stackpole answered. “But I don’t believe that; he’s not a man to do nothing. He is a man of high, bold action. Whatever happens to him he’ll always do something, and whatever he does will always be right.”
“I quite believe that.” Henrietta might be wanting in delicacy, but it touched the girl, all the same, to hear this declaration.
“Ah, you do care for him!” her visitor rang out.
“Whatever he does will always be right,” Isabel repeated. “When a man’s of that infallible mould what does it matter to him what one feels?” ”

“ Grandmother compressed her lips, but her eyes spoke volumes.
"Miss Stackpole," said I, "it is true that Rhoda has not been here long; still, I have a perfect conviction of her honesty."
"Very amiable and generous of you to feel so, Kate," said Miss Stackpole; "perhaps a few years ago, when I was of your age, I should have thought just the same."
"Kate is twenty next September," said grandmother, who could refrain no longer. "I never forget anybody's age. It is quite possible that she will change in the course of twenty-five or thirty years." ”

“ Stackpole, smiling at her, however;--"women have nothing to do with books."
"What do you say to that, Miss Fleda?" said Thorn.
"Nothing, sir; it is one of those positions that are unanswerable."
"But Mr. Stackpole," said Mrs. Evelyn, "I don't like that doctrine, sir. I do not believe in it at all."
"That is unfortunate--for my doctrine," said the gentleman.
"But I do not believe it is yours. Why must women have nothing to do with books? what harm do they do, Mr. Stackpole?"
"Not needed, ma'am,--a woman, as somebody says, knows intuitively all that is really worth knowing." ”

“ Henrietta enquired with unprecedented distinctness.
The Countess stared, and then with a little violent laugh: “It’s certain all the nice men do it. Get married and you’ll see!” she added.
“That idea would be enough to prevent me,” said Miss Stackpole. “I should want my own husband; I shouldn’t want any one else’s. Do you mean that Isabel’s guilty—guilty—?” And she paused a little, choosing her expression.
“Do I mean she’s guilty? Oh dear no, not yet, I hope. I only mean that Osmond’s very tiresome and that Lord Warburton, as I hear, is a great deal at the house. ”

“ I feel lonely and want company,” was Ralph’s greeting.
“You’ve some that’s very good which you’ve yet deserted.”
“Do you mean my cousin? Oh, she has a visitor and doesn’t want me. Then Miss Stackpole and Bantling have gone out to a cafe to eat an ice—Miss Stackpole delights in an ice. I didn’t think they wanted me either. The opera’s very bad; the women look like laundresses and sing like peacocks. I feel very low.”
“You had better go home,” Lord Warburton said without affectation. ”

“ Goodwood were interested in Isabel in the serious manner described by Miss Stackpole he would not care to present himself at Gardencourt on a summons from the latter lady. “On this supposition,” said Ralph, “he must regard her as a thorn on the stem of his rose; as an intercessor he must find her wanting in tact.”
Two days after he had sent his invitation he received a very short note from Caspar Goodwood, thanking him for it, regretting that other engagements made a visit to Gardencourt impossible and presenting many compliments to Miss Stackpole. ”

“ Madame Merle was too humorous, too observant, not to do justice to Henrietta, and on becoming acquainted with her would probably give the measure of a tact which Miss Stackpole couldn’t hope to emulate. She appeared to have in her experience a touchstone for everything, and somewhere in the capacious pocket of her genial memory she would find the key to Henrietta’s value. “That’s the great thing,” Isabel solemnly pondered; “that’s the supreme good fortune: to be in a better position for appreciating people than they are for appreciating you.” ”

“ To Bethel, being rather too far for going and returning the same day, only Miss Stackpole and Louise went. They rode in the carryall, Louise driving. Though quite needlessly, Miss Stackpole was a little afraid of trusting herself to Louise's skill, and begged Will Bright, uncle's gardener, to leave his work, just for a day, and go with them. But there were a dozen things, said Will, which needed immediate doing, so that was out of the question. Then it came out that a run-away horse was not the only danger. ”

“ Caspar granted all Miss Stackpole’s merits in advance, but had no further remark to make about her. Neither, after the first allusions, did the two men expatiate upon Mrs. Osmond—a theme in which Goodwood perceived as many dangers as Ralph. He felt very sorry for that unclassable personage; he couldn’t bear to see a pleasant man, so pleasant for all his queerness, so beyond anything to be done. There was always something to be done, for Goodwood, and he did it in this case by repeating several times his visit to the Hôtel de Paris. It seemed to Isabel that she had been very clever ”

“ Henrietta had herself approached this point with the smallest possible delay, and had accused her to her face of being wretched. She was a woman, she was a sister; she was not Ralph, nor Lord Warburton, nor Caspar Goodwood, and Isabel could speak.
“Yes, I’m wretched,” she said very mildly. She hated to hear herself say it; she tried to say it as judicially as possible.
“What does he do to you?” Henrietta asked, frowning as if she were enquiring into the operations of a quack doctor.
“He does nothing. But he doesn’t like me.”
“He’s very hard to please!” cried Miss Stackpole. ”

“ Lady correspondents appeared to him a part of the natural scheme of things in a progressive country, and though he never read their letters he supposed that they ministered somehow to social prosperity. But it was this very eminence of their position that made him wish Miss Stackpole didn’t take so much for granted. She took for granted that he was always ready for some allusion to Mrs. Osmond; she had done so when they met in Paris, six weeks after his arrival in Europe, and she had repeated the assumption with every successive opportunity. He had no wish whatever to allude to Mrs. Osmond ”

“ I’ll try and run down while you’re there.”
All this was very pleasant to Miss Stackpole, and she was sorry to be obliged to separate from Lady Pensil’s obliging brother. But it happened that she had met the day before, in Piccadilly, some friends whom she had not seen for a year: the Miss Climbers, two ladies from Wilmington, Delaware, who had been travelling on the Continent and were now preparing to re-embark. Henrietta had had a long interview with them on the Piccadilly pavement, and though the three ladies all talked at once they had not exhausted their store. ”

“ That’s what I’m going to Rome for.”
“Dear me, what a tiresome errand!” the Countess exclaimed.
“She doesn’t write to me in the same way; it’s easy to see there’s a difference. If you know anything,” Miss Stackpole went on, “I should like to hear it beforehand, so as to decide on the line I shall take.”
The Countess thrust out her under lip and gave a gradual shrug. “I know very little; I see and hear very little of Osmond. He doesn’t like me any better than he appears to like you.”
“Yet you’re not a lady correspondent,” said Henrietta pensively. ”

“ She thinks she knows everything; but she doesn’t understand a woman of my modern type. It would be so much easier for her if I were only a little better or a little worse. She’s so puzzled; I believe she thinks it’s my duty to go and do something immoral. She thinks it’s immoral that I should marry her brother; but, after all, that isn’t immoral enough. And she’ll never understand my mixture—never!”
“She’s not so intelligent as her brother then,” said Isabel. “He appears to have understood.”
“Oh no, he hasn’t!” cried Miss Stackpole with decision. ”

“ Evelyn?"
"Not at all--I agree with you, that Americans are prejudiced; but I think it will pass off, Mr. Stackpole, as they learn to know themselves and other countries better."
"But how do they deserve such a charge and such a defence? or how have they deserved it?" said Fleda.
"Tell her, Mr. Stackpole," said Mrs. Evelyn.
"Why," said Mr. Stackpole,--"in their absurd opposition to all the old and tried forms of things, and rancorous dislike of those who uphold them; and in their pertinacity on every point where they might be set right, and impatience of hearing the truth." ”

“ The right thing would have been that Miss Stackpole should come to dine at Palazzo Roccanera once or twice, so that (in spite of his superficial civility, always so great) she might judge for herself how little pleasure it gave him. From the moment, however, that both the ladies were so unaccommodating, there was nothing for Osmond but to wish the lady from New York would take herself off. It was surprising how little satisfaction he got from his wife’s friends; he took occasion to call Isabel’s attention to it.
“You’re certainly not fortunate in your intimates ”

“ He asked himself what it signified to him whether Isabel’s admirers should be desperadoes or laggards; they were not rivals of his and were perfectly welcome to act out their genius. Nevertheless he felt much curiosity as to the result of Miss Stackpole’s promised enquiry into the causes of Mr. Goodwood’s stiffness—a curiosity for the present ungratified, inasmuch as when he asked her three days later if she had written to London she was obliged to confess she had written in vain. Mr. Goodwood had not replied.
“I suppose he’s thinking it over,” she said; “he thinks everything over ”

“ Of course I spoil your flirtation, or whatever it is you call it, with your cousin; but I don’t care for that, as I render her the service of drawing you out. She’ll see how thin you are.”
“Ah, do draw me out!” Ralph exclaimed. “So few people will take the trouble.”
Miss Stackpole, in this undertaking, appeared to shrink from no effort; resorting largely, whenever the opportunity offered, to the natural expedient of interrogation. On the following day the weather was bad, and in the afternoon the young man, by way of providing indoor amusement, offered to show her the pictures. ”

“ He called at the Hôtel de Paris and, on being shown into the presence of the master of Gardencourt, found Miss Stackpole sitting beside his sofa. A singular change had in fact occurred in this lady’s relations with Ralph Touchett. She had not been asked by Isabel to go and see him, but on hearing that he was too ill to come out had immediately gone of her own motion. After this she had paid him a daily visit—always under the conviction that they were great enemies. “Oh yes, we’re intimate enemies,” Ralph used to say ”

“ Carleton.
"It is worked," said Mr. Stackpole. "Domestic life is the true training for the female mind. One woman will learn more wisdom from the child on her breast than another will learn from ten thousand volumes."
"It is very doubtful how much wisdom the child will ever learn from her," said Mr. Carleton smiling.
"A woman who never saw a book," pursued Mr. Stackpole, unconsciously quoting his author, "may be infinitely superior, even in all those matters of which books treat, to the woman who has read, and read intelligently, a whole library." ”

“ This exchange took place in the large decorated sitting-room occupied by our friends at the hotel; it was late in the evening, and Ralph Touchett was to take his cousin back to Florence on the morrow. Osmond had found the girl alone; Miss Stackpole had contracted a friendship with a delightful American family on the fourth floor and had mounted the interminable staircase to pay them a visit. Henrietta contracted friendships, in travelling, with great freedom, and had formed in railway-carriages several that were among her most valued ties. ”

“ To read between the lines was easier than to follow the text, and to suppose that Miss Stackpole wished the gentleman invited to Gardencourt on her own account was the sign not so much of a vulgar as of an embarrassed mind. ”