Chapter 5
Life at baden-baden proved a very sociable affair, and Bernard
Longueville perceived that he should not lack opportunity for the exercise
of those gifts of intelligence to which Gordon Wright had appealed. The
two friends took long walks through the woods and over the mountains,
and they mingled with human life in the crowded precincts of the
Conversation-house. They engaged in a ramble on the morning after
Bernard's arrival, and wandered far away, over hill and dale. The Baden
forests are superb, and the composition of the landscape is most effective.
There is always a bosky dell in the foreground, and a purple crag
embellished with a ruined tower at a proper angle. A little
timber-and-plaster village peeps out from a tangle of plum-trees, and a
way-side tavern, in comfortable recurrence, solicits concessions to the
national custom of frequent refreshment. Gordon Wright, who was a
dogged pedestrian, always enjoyed doing his ten miles, and Longueville,
who was an incorrigible stroller, felt a keen relish for the picturesqueness
of the country. But it was not, on this occasion, of the charms of the
landscape or the pleasures of locomotion that they chiefly discoursed.
Their talk took a more closely personal turn. It was a year since they had
met, and there were many questions to ask and answer, many arrears of
gossip to make up. As they stretched themselves on the grass on a
sun-warmed hill-side, beneath a great German oak whose arms were quiet
in the blue summer air, there was a lively exchange of impressions,
opinions, speculations, anecdotes. Gordon Wright was surely an excellent
friend. He took an interest in you. He asked no idle questions and made
no vague professions; but he entered into your situation, he examined it in
detail, and what he learned he never forgot. Months afterwards, he asked
you about things which you yourself had forgotten. He was not a man of
whom it would be generally said that he had the gift of sympathy; but he
gave his attention to a friend's circumstances with a conscientious
fixedness which was at least very far removed from indifference. Bernard
had the gift of sympathy — or at least he was supposed to have it; but even
he, familiar as he must
therefore have been with the practice of this
charming virtue, was at times so struck with his friend's fine faculty of
taking other people's affairs seriously that he constantly exclaimed to
himself,
The excellent fellow — the admirable nature!
Bernard had two or three questions to ask about the three persons
who appeared to have formed for some time his companion's principal
society, but he was indisposed to press them. He felt that he should see
for himself, and at a prospect of entertainment of this kind, his fancy
always kindled. Gordon was, moreover, at first rather shy of confidences,
though after they had lain on the grass ten minutes there was a good deal
said.
Now what do you think of her face?
Gordon asked,
after staring a while at the sky through the oak-boughs.
Of course, in future,
said Longueville,
whenever
you make use of the personal pronoun feminine, I am to understand that
Miss Vivian is indicated.
Her name is Angela,
said Gordon;
but of course I
can scarcely call her that.
It 's a beautiful name,
Longueville rejoined;
but I
may say, in answer to your question, that I am not struck with the fact
that her face corresponds to it.
You don't think her face beautiful, then?
I don't think it angelic. But how can I tell? I have only had a
glimpse of her.
Wait till she looks at you and speaks — wait till she
smiles,
said Gordon.
I don't think I saw her smile — at least, not at me, directly. I
hope she will!
Longueville went on.
But who is she — this
beautiful girl with the beautiful name?
She is her mother's daughter,
said Gordon Wright.
I don't really know a great deal more about her than that.
And who is her mother?
A delightful little woman, devoted to Miss Vivian. She is a
widow, and Angela is her only child. They have lived a great deal in
Europe; they have but a modest income. Over here, Mrs. Vivian says,
they can get a lot of things for their money that they can't get at home. So
they stay, you see. When they are at home they live in New York. They
know some of my people there. When they are in Europe they live about
in
different places. They are fond of Italy. They are extremely nice; it 's
impossible to be nicer. They are very fond of books, fond of music, and
art, and all that. They always read in the morning. They only come out
rather late in the day.
I see they are very superior people,
said Bernard.
And little Miss Evers — what does she do in the morning? I know
what she does in the evening!
I don't know what her regular habits are. I have n't paid much
attention to her. She is very pretty.
Wunderschön!
said Bernard.
But you were
certainly talking to her last evening.
Of course I talk to her sometimes. She is totally different from
Angela Vivian — not nearly so cultivated; but she seems very
charming.
A little silly, eh?
Bernard suggested.
She certainly is not so wise as Miss Vivian.
That would be too much to ask, eh? But the Vivians, as kind
as they are wise, have taken her under their protection.
Yes,
said Gordon,
they are to keep her another
month or two. Her mother has gone to Marienbad, which I believe is
thought a dull place for a young girl; so that, as they were coming here,
they offered to bring her with them. Mrs. Evers is an old friend of Mrs.
Vivian, who, on leaving Italy, had come up to Dresden to be with her.
They spent a month there together; Mrs. Evers had been there since the
winter. I think Mrs. Vivian really came to Baden-Baden — she would have
preferred a less expensive place — to bring Blanche Evers. Her mother
wanted her so much to come.
And was it for her sake that Captain Lovelock came,
too?
Bernard asked.
Gordon Wright stared a moment.
I 'm sure I don't know!
Of course you can't be interested in that,
said Bernard
smiling.
Who is Captain Lovelock?
He is an Englishman. I believe he is what 's called
aristocratically connected — the younger brother of a lord, or something of
that sort.
Is he a clever man?
I have n't talked with him much, but I doubt it. He is rather
rakish; he plays a great deal.
But is that considered here a proof of rakishness?
asked
Bernard.
Have n't you played a little yourself?
Gordon hesitated a moment.
Yes, I have played a little. I wanted to try some experiments.
I had made some arithmetical calculations of probabilities, which I wished
to test.
Bernard gave a long laugh.
I am delighted with the reasons you give for amusing yourself!
Arithmetical calculations!
I assure you they are the real reasons!
said Gordon,
blushing a little.
That 's just the beauty of it. You were not afraid of being
`drawn in,' as little Miss Evers says?
I am never drawn in, whatever the thing may be. I go in, or I
stay out; but I am not drawn,
said Gordon Wright.
You were not drawn into coming with Mrs. Vivian and her
daughter from Dresden to this place?
I did n't come with them; I came a week later.
My dear fellow,
said Bernard,
that distinction is
unworthy of your habitual candor.
Well, I was not fascinated; I was not overmastered. I wanted
to come to Baden.
I have no doubt you did. Had you become very intimate with
your friends in Dresden?
I had only seen them three times.
After which you followed them to this place? Ah, don't say
you were not fascinated!
cried Bernard, laughing and springing to
his feet.
