loyalty, if need be, have accepted the adventure for the good creature herself; to that definite degree that he had positively almost missed the luxury of some such call from her.  That was what it all came back to again with these people among whom he was married—­that one found one used one’s imagination mainly for wondering how they contrived so little to appeal to it.  He felt at moments as if there were never anything to do for them that was worthy—­to call worthy—­of the personal relation; never any charming charge to take of any confidence deeply reposed.  He might vulgarly have put it that one had never to plot or to lie for them; he might humourously have put it that one had never, as by the higher conformity, to lie in wait with the dagger or to prepare, insidiously, the cup.  These were the services that, by all romantic tradition, were consecrated to affection quite as much as to hate.  But he could amuse himself with saying—­so far as the amusement went—­that they were what he had once for all turned his back on.

Fanny was meanwhile frequent, it appeared, in Eaton Square; so much he gathered from the visitor who was not infrequent, least of all at tea-time, during the same period, in Portland Place; though they had little need to talk of her after practically agreeing that they had outlived her.  To the scene of these conversations and suppressions Mrs. Assingham herself made, actually, no approach; her latest view of her utility seeming to be that it had found in Eaton Square its most urgent field.  It was finding there in fact everything and everyone but the Prince, who mostly, just now, kept away, or who, at all events, on the interspaced occasions of his calling, happened not to encounter the only person from whom he was a little estranged.  It would have been all prodigious if he had not already, with Charlotte’s aid, so very considerably lived into it—­it would have been all indescribably remarkable, this fact that, with wonderful causes for it so operating on the surface, nobody else, as yet, in the combination, seemed estranged from anybody.  If Mrs. Assingham delighted in Maggie she knew by this time how most easily to reach her, and if she was unhappy about Charlotte she knew, by the same reasoning, how most probably to miss that vision of her on which affliction would feed.  It might feed of course on finding her so absent from her home—­just as this particular phenomenon of her domestic detachment could be, by the anxious mind, best studied there.  Fanny was, however, for her reasons, “shy” of Portland Place itself—­this was appreciable; so that she might well, after all, have no great light on the question of whether Charlotte’s appearances there were frequent or not, any more than on that of the account they might be keeping of the usual solitude (since it came to this) of the head of that house.  There was always, to cover all ambiguities, to constitute a fund of explanation for the divisions of Mrs. Verver’s day, the circumstance that,