Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by DavidPrice,
THE LESSON OF
THE MASTER
BY HENRY JAMES
LONDON: MARTIN SECKER
NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET ADELPHI
This editionfirst printed 1915
p. 5I
He had been told the ladies were atchurch, but this was corrected by what he saw from the top of thesteps—they descended from a great height in two arms, witha circular sweep of the most charming effect—at thethreshold of the door which, from the long bright gallery,overlooked the immense lawn. Three gentlemen, on the grass,at a distance, sat under the great trees, while the fourth figureshowed a crimson dress that told as a “bit of colour”amid the fresh rich green. The servant had so faraccompanied Paul Overt as to introduce him to this view, afterasking him if he wished first to go to his room. The youngman declined that privilege, conscious of no disrepair from soshort and easy a journey and always liking to take at once ageneral perceptive possession of a new scene. He stoodthere a little with his eyes on the group and on the admirablepicture, the wide grounds of an old country-house nearLondon—that only made it better—on a splendid Sundayin June. “But that lady, who’sshe?” he said to the servant before the man lefthim.
“I think she’s Mrs. St. George, sir.”
“Mrs. St. George, the wife of thedistinguished—” Then Paul Overt checkedhimself, doubting if a footman would know.
“Yes, sir—probably, sir,” said his guide,who appeared to wish to intimate that a person staying atSummersoft would naturally be, if only by alliance,distinguished. His tone, however, made poor Overt himselffeel for the moment scantly so.
“And the gentlemen?” Overt went on.
“Well, sir, one of them’s GeneralFancourt.”
“Ah yes, I know; thank you.” GeneralFancourt was distinguished, there was no doubt of that, forsomething he had done, or perhaps even hadn’tdone—the young man couldn’t remember which—someyears before in India. The servant went away, leaving theglass doors open into the gallery, and Paul Overt remained at thehead of the wide double staircase, saying to himself that theplace was sweet and promised a pleasant visit, while he leaned onthe balustrade of fine old ironwork which, like all the otherdetails, was of the same period as the house. It all wenttogether and spoke in one voice—a rich English voice of theearly part of the eighteenth century. It might have beenchurch-time on a summer’s day in the reign of Queen Anne;the stillness was too perfect to be modern, the nearness countedso as distance, and there was something so fresh and sound in theoriginality of the large smooth house, the expanse of beautifulbrickwork that showed for pink rather than red and that had beenkept clear of messy creepers by the law under which a woman witha rare complexion disdains a veil. When Paul Overt becameaware that the people under the t