The Beldonald Holbein | Page 3

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ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*

This etext was transcribed by David Price, email
[email protected]; proofing by Andy and his wife. The edition
used was the 1922 Macmillan and Co. one.

THE BELDONALD HOLBEIN
by Henry James

CHAPTER I

Mrs. Munden had not yet been to my studio on so good a pretext as
when she first intimated that it would be quite open to me--should I
only care, as she called it, to throw the handkerchief--to paint her
beautiful sister-in- law. I needn't go here more than is essential into the
question of Mrs. Munden, who would really, by the way, be a story in
herself. She has a manner of her own of putting things, and some of
those she has put to me--! Her implication was that Lady Beldonald
hadn't only seen and admired certain examples of my work, but had
literally been prepossessed in favour of the painter's "personality." Had
I been struck with this sketch I might easily have imagined her ladyship
was throwing me the handkerchief. "She hasn't done," my visitor said,
"what she ought."
"Do you mean she has done what she oughtn't?"
"Nothing horrid--ah dear no." And something in Mrs. Munden's tone,
with the way she appeared to muse a moment, even suggested to me
that what she "oughtn't" was perhaps what Lady Beldonald had too
much neglected. "She hasn't got on."
"What's the matter with her?"
"Well, to begin with, she's American."
"But I thought that was the way of ways to get on."
"It's one of them. But it's one of the ways of being awfully out of it too.
There are so many!"
"So many Americans?" I asked.

"Yes, plenty of THEM," Mrs. Munden sighed. "So many ways, I mean,
of being one."
"But if your sister-in-law's way is to be beautiful--?"
"Oh there are different ways of that too."
"And she hasn't taken the right way?"
"Well," my friend returned as if it were rather difficult to express, "she
hasn't done with it--"
"I see," I laughed; "what she oughtn't!"
Mrs. Munden in a manner corrected me, but it WAS difficult to express.
"My brother at all events was certainly selfish. Till he died she was
almost never in London; they wintered, year after year, for what he
supposed to be his health--which it didn't help, since he was so much
too soon to meet his end--in the south of France and in the dullest holes
he could pick out, and when they came back to England he always kept
her in the country. I must say for her that she always behaved
beautifully. Since his death she has been more in London, but on a
stupidly unsuccessful footing. I don't think she quite understands. She
hasn't