VOLUME I
6. CHAPTER VI
(continued)
"I don't know about the novels," said Mr. Touchett. "I believe
the novels have a great deal but I don't suppose they're very
accurate. We once had a lady who wrote novels staying here; she
was a friend of Ralph's and he asked her down. She was very
positive, quite up to everything; but she was not the sort of
person you could depend on for evidence. Too free a fancy--I
suppose that was it. She afterwards published a work of fiction
in which she was understood to have given a representation--
something in the nature of a caricature, as you might say--of my
unworthy self. I didn't read it, but Ralph just handed me the
book with the principal passages marked. It was understood to be
a description of my conversation; American peculiarities, nasal
twang, Yankee notions, stars and stripes. Well, it was not at all
accurate; she couldn't have listened very attentively. I had no
objection to her giving a report of my conversation, if she liked
but I didn't like the idea that she hadn't taken the trouble to
listen to it. Of course I talk like an American--I can't talk
like a Hottentot. However I talk, I've made them understand me
pretty well over here. But I don't talk like the old gentleman in
that lady's novel. He wasn't an American; we wouldn't have him
over there at any price. I just mention that fact to show you
that they're not always accurate. Of course, as I've no
daughters, and as Mrs. Touchett resides in Florence, I haven't
had much chance to notice about the young ladies. It sometimes
appears as if the young women in the lower class were not very
well treated; but I guess their position is better in the upper
and even to some extent in the middle."
"Gracious," Isabel exclaimed; "how many classes have they? About
fifty, I suppose."
"Well, I don't know that I ever counted them. I never took much
notice of the classes. That's the advantage of being an American
here; you don't belong to any class."
"I hope so," said Isabel. "Imagine one's belonging to an English
class!"
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