DOI article:
James, Henry: The death of the lion
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.20196#0035
By Henry James 29
for the propensity to wait all day is not in general characteristic
of her race. I was enlightened probably not so mucb by the
spirit of the utterance as by some quality of its sound. At any
rate I saw she had an individual patience and a lovely frock, to-
gether with an expression that played among her pretty features
as a breeze among flowers. Putting her book upon the table, she
showed me a massive album, showily bound and füll of autographs
of price. The collection of faded notes, of still more faded
" thoughts," of quotations, platitudes, signatures, represented a
formidable purpose.
" Most people apply to Mr. Paraday by letter, you know," I said.
" Yes, but he doesn't answer. I've written three times."
" Very true," I reflected ; " the sort of letter you mean goes
straight into the fire."
" How do you know the sort I mean ?" my interlocutress
asked. She had blushed and smiled and in a moment she added :
" I don't believe he gets many like them !"
"I'm sure they're beautiful, but he burns without reading." I
didn't add that I had told him he ought to.
" Isn't he then in danger of burning things of importance ? "
" He would be, if distinguished men hadn't an infallible nose for
a petition."
She looked at me a moment—her face was sweet and gay.
" Do you burn without reading, too ? " she asked ; in answer to
which I assured her that if she would trust me with her repository
I would see that Mr. Paraday should write his name in it.
She considered a little. "That's very well, but it wouldn't
make me see him."
" Do you want very much to see him ?" It seemed ungracious
to catechise so charming a creature, but somehow I had never yet
taken my duty to the great author so seriously.
" Enough
for the propensity to wait all day is not in general characteristic
of her race. I was enlightened probably not so mucb by the
spirit of the utterance as by some quality of its sound. At any
rate I saw she had an individual patience and a lovely frock, to-
gether with an expression that played among her pretty features
as a breeze among flowers. Putting her book upon the table, she
showed me a massive album, showily bound and füll of autographs
of price. The collection of faded notes, of still more faded
" thoughts," of quotations, platitudes, signatures, represented a
formidable purpose.
" Most people apply to Mr. Paraday by letter, you know," I said.
" Yes, but he doesn't answer. I've written three times."
" Very true," I reflected ; " the sort of letter you mean goes
straight into the fire."
" How do you know the sort I mean ?" my interlocutress
asked. She had blushed and smiled and in a moment she added :
" I don't believe he gets many like them !"
"I'm sure they're beautiful, but he burns without reading." I
didn't add that I had told him he ought to.
" Isn't he then in danger of burning things of importance ? "
" He would be, if distinguished men hadn't an infallible nose for
a petition."
She looked at me a moment—her face was sweet and gay.
" Do you burn without reading, too ? " she asked ; in answer to
which I assured her that if she would trust me with her repository
I would see that Mr. Paraday should write his name in it.
She considered a little. "That's very well, but it wouldn't
make me see him."
" Do you want very much to see him ?" It seemed ungracious
to catechise so charming a creature, but somehow I had never yet
taken my duty to the great author so seriously.
" Enough