“But will Charlotte Stant,” her father asked with surprise, “make us grander?”
Maggie, on this, looking at him well, had a remarkable reply. “Yes, I think. Really grander.”
He thought; for if this was a sudden opening he wished but the more to meet it. “Because she’s so handsome?”
“No, father.” And the Princess was almost solemn. “Because she’s so great.”
“Great—?”
“Great in nature, in character, in spirit. Great in life.”
“So?” Mr. Verver echoed. “What has she done—in life?”
“Well, she has been brave and bright,” said Maggie. “That mayn’t sound like much, but she has been so in the face of things that might well have made it too difficult for many other girls. She hasn’t a creature in the world really—that is nearly—belonging to her. Only acquaintances who, in all sorts of ways, make use of her, and distant relations who are so afraid she’ll make use of THEM that they seldom let her look at them.”
Mr. Verver was struck—and, as usual, to some purpose. “If we get her here to improve us don’t we too then make use of her?”
It pulled the Princess up, however, but an instant. “We’re old, old friends—we do her good too. I should always, even at the worst—speaking for myself—admire her still more than I used her.”