He stood for a moment; he WOULD have it straight. “Whose husband’s?”
“Mr. Verver’s,” she went on. “The blindness is most of all his. That they feel—that they see. But it’s also his wife’s.”
“Whose wife’s?” he asked as she continued to gloom at him in a manner at variance with the comparative cheer of her contention. And then as she only gloomed: “The Prince’s?”
“Maggie’s own—Maggie’s very own,” she pursued as for herself.
He had a pause. “Do you think Maggie so blind?”
“The question isn’t of what I think. The question’s of the conviction that guides the Prince and Charlotte—who have better opportunities than I for judging.”
The Colonel again wondered. “Are you so very sure their opportunities are better?”
“Well,” his wife asked, “what is their whole so extraordinary situation, their extraordinary relation, but an opportunity?”
“Ah, my dear, you have that opportunity—of their extraordinary situation and relation—as much as they.”
“With the difference, darling,” she returned with some spirit, “that neither of those matters are, if you please, mine. I see the boat they’re in, but I’m not, thank God, in it myself. To-day, however,” Mrs. Assingham added, “to-day in Eaton Square I did see.”