Page:The Novels and Tales of Henry James, Volume 1 (New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1907).djvu/244

 whole conduct. I care for your opinion—I don't know why."

"Nor do I, I confess!" Rowland laughed.

"What do you think of this affair?" she went on as if his confession did n't matter.

"Of your ball? Why, it 's a very grand affair."

"It 's horrible—that 's what it is. It 's a mere rabble. There are people here whom I never saw before, people who were never asked. Mamma went about inviting every one, asking other people to invite any one they knew, doing anything to have a crowd. I hope she's satisfied. It 's not my doing. I feel weary, I feel angry, I want to cry, I want to bite. I 've twenty minds to escape into my room and lock the door and let mamma s'en tirer as she can. By the way," she added in a moment, without a visible reason for the jump, "can you tell me something to read?"

Rowland stared at the disconnectedness of the question.

"Can you recommend me some books?" she repeated. "I know you literally have some. I 've no one else to ask. We never see one in our lives—where should we, and why? We make debts for clothes and champagne, but we can't spend a sou on our poor benighted minds. And yet, though you may not believe it, I really like things that are for the mind."

"I shall be most happy to lend you any books," Rowland said. "I 'll pick some out to-morrow and send them to you."

"No nasty novels then, please, if you don't mind. I'm tired of nasty novels—at one time I read 210