The beginning of an acquaintance whether with persons or things is to     get a definite outline for our ignorance.
Mr. Grandcourt’s wish to be introduced had no suddenness for Gwendolen; but when Lord Brackenshaw moved aside a little for the prefigured stranger to come forward and she felt herself face to face with the real man, there was a little shock which flushed her cheeks and vexatiously deepened with her consciousness of it. The shock came from the reversal of her expectations: Grandcourt could hardly have been more unlike all her imaginary portraits of him. He was slightly taller than herself, and their eyes seemed to be on a level; there was not the faintest smile on his face as he looked at her, not a trace of self-consciousness or anxiety in his bearing: when he raised his hat he showed an extensive baldness surrounded with a mere¹ fringe of reddish-blonde hair, but he also showed a perfect hand; the line of feature from brow to chin undisguised by beard was decidedly handsome, with only moderate departures from the perpendicular³, and the slight whisker too was perpendicular. It was not possible for a human aspect to be freer from grimace⁴ or solicitous⁵ wrigglings: also it was perhaps not possible for a breathing man wide awake to look less animated⁶. The correct Englishman, drawing himself up from his bow into rigidity⁷, assenting⁸ severely⁹, and seemed to be in a state of internal drill, suggests a suppressed vivacity¹⁰, and may be suspected of letting go with some violence when he is released from parade; but Grandcourt’s bearing had no rigidity, it inclined rather to the flaccid. His complexion¹¹ had a faded fairness resembling that of an actress when bare of the artificial white and red; his long narrow gray eyes expressed nothing but indifference¹². Attempts at description are stupid: who can all at once describe a human being? Even when he is presented to us we only begin that knowledge of his appearance which must be completed by innumerable impressions under differing circumstances. We recognize the alphabet; we are not sure of the language. I am only mentioning the point that Gwendolen saw by the light of a prepared contrast in the first minutes of her meeting with Grandcourt: they were summed up in the words, “He is not ridiculous.” But forthwith Lord Brackenshaw was gone, and what is called conversation had begun, the first and constant element in it being that Grandcourt looked at Gwendolen persistently¹³ with a slightly exploring gaze, but without change of expression, while she only occasionally looked at him with a flash of observation a little softened¹⁴ by coquetry. Also, after her answers there was a longer or shorter pause before he spoke¹⁵ again.
 
“I used to think archery was a great bore,” Grandcourt began. He spoke with a fine accent, but with a certain broken drawl, as of a distinguished¹⁷ personage with a distinguished cold on his chest.
 
“Are you converted to-day?” said Gwendolen.
 
(Pause, during which she imagined various degrees and modes of opinion about herself that might be entertained by Grandcourt.)
 
“Yes, since I saw you shooting. In things of this sort one generally sees people missing and simpering.”
 
“I suppose you are a first-rate shot with a rifle.”
 
(Pause, during which Gwendolen, having taken a rapid observation of Grandcourt, made a brief graphic¹⁸ description of him to an indefinite hearer.)
 
“I have left off shooting.”
 
“Oh, then, you are a formidable person. People who have done things once and left them off make one feel very contemptible¹⁹, as if one were using cast-off fashions. I hope you have not left off all follies²⁰, because I practice a great many.”
 
(Pause, during which Gwendolen made several interpretations²² of her own speech.)
 
“What do you call follies?”
 
“Well, in general, I think, whatever is agreeable is called a folly²³. But you have not left off hunting, I hear.”
 
(Pause, wherein Gwendolen recalled what she had heard about Grandcourt’s position, and decided² that he was the most aristocratic-looking man she had ever seen.)
 
“One must do something.”
 
“And do you care about the turf?—or is that among the things you have left off?”
 
(Pause, during which Gwendolen thought that a man of extremely calm, cold manners might be less disagreeable as a husband than other men, and not likely to interfere²⁴ with his wife’s preferences.)
 
“I run a horse now and then; but I don’t go in for the thing as some men do. Are you fond of horses?”
 
“Yes, indeed; I never like my life so well as when I am on horseback, having a great gallop²⁵. I think of nothing. I only feel myself strong and happy.”
 
(Pause, wherein Gwendolen wondered whether Grandcourt would like what she said, but assured herself that she was not going to disguise her tastes.)
 
“Do you like danger?”
 
“I don’t know. When I am on horseback I never think of danger. It seems to me that if I broke my bones I should not feel it. I should go at anything that came in my way.”
 
(Pause during which Gwendolen had run through a whole hunting season with two chosen hunters to ride at will.)
 
“You would perhaps like tiger-hunting or pig-sticking. I saw some of that for a season or two in the East. Everything here is poor stuff after that.”
 
“You are fond of danger, then?”
 
(Pause, wherein Gwendolen speculated on the probability that the men of coldest manners were the most adventurous²⁶, and felt the strength of her own insight, supposing the question had to be decided.)
 
“One must have something or other. But one gets used to it.”
 
“I begin to think I am very fortunate, because everything is new to me: it is only that I can’t get enough of it. I am not used to anything except being dull, which I should like to leave off as you have left off shooting.”
 
(Pause, during which it occurred to Gwendolen that a man of cold and distinguished manners might possibly be a dull companion; but on the other hand she thought that most persons were dull, that she had not observed husbands to be companions—and that after all she was not going to accept Grandcourt.)
 
“Why are you dull?”
 
“This is a dreadful neighborhood. There is nothing to be done in it. That is why I practiced my archery.”
 
(Pause, during which Gwendolen reflected that the life of an unmarried woman who could not go about and had no command of anything must necessarily be dull through all degrees of comparison as time went on.)
 
“You have made yourself queen of it. I imagine you will carry the first prize.”
 
“I don’t know that. I have great rivals. Did you not observe how well Miss Arrowpoint shot?”
 
(Pause, wherein Gwendolen was thinking that men had been known to choose some one else than the woman they most admired, and recalled several experiences of that kind in novels.)
 
“Miss Arrowpoint. No—that is, yes.”
 
“Shall we go now and hear what the scoring says? Every one is going to the other end now—shall we join them? I think my uncle is looking toward me. He perhaps wants me.”
 
Gwendolen found a relief for herself by thus changing the situation: not that the tete-à-tete was quite disagreeable to her; but while it lasted she apparently²⁸ could not get rid of the unwonted flush in her cheeks and the sense of surprise which made her feel less mistress of herself than usual. And this Mr. Grandcourt, who seemed to feel his own importance more than he did hers—a sort of unreasonableness²⁹ few of us can tolerate—must not take for granted that he was of great moment to her, or that because others speculated on him as a desirable match she held herself altogether at his beck. How Grandcourt had filled up the pauses will be more evident hereafter.
 
“You have just missed the gold arrow, Gwendolen,” said Mr. Gascoigne. “Miss Juliet Fenn scores eight above you.”
 
“I am very glad to hear it. I should have felt that I was making myself too disagreeable—taking the best of everything,” said Gwendolen, quite easily.
 
It was impossible to be jealous of Juliet Fenn, a girl as middling as mid-day market in everything but her archery and plainness, in which last she was noticeable like her father: underhung and with receding³⁰ brow resembling that of the more intelligent fishes. (Surely, considering the importance which is given to such an accident in female offspring, marriageable men, or what the new English calls “intending bridegrooms,” should look at themselves dispassionately in the glass, since their natural selection of a mate prettier than themselves is not certain to bar the effect of their own ugliness.)
 
There was now a lively movement in the mingling³¹ groups, which carried the talk along with it. Every one spoke to every one else by turns, and Gwendolen, who chose to see what was going on around her now, observed that Grandcourt was having Klesmer presented to him by some one unknown to her—a middle-aged³² man, with dark, full face and fat hands, who seemed to be on the easiest terms with both, and presently led the way in joining the Arrowpoints, whose acquaintance had already been made by both him and Grandcourt. Who this stranger was she did not care much to know; but she wished to observe what was Grandcourt’s manner toward others than herself. Precisely³³ the same: except that he did not look much at Miss Arrowpoint, but rather at Klesmer, who was speaking with animation³⁴—now stretching out his long fingers horizontally, now pointing downward with his fore-finger, now folding his arms and tossing his mane, while he addressed himself first to one and then to the other, including Grandcourt, who listened with an impassive face and narrow eyes, his left fore-finger in his waistcoat-pocket, and his right slightly touching³⁵ his thin whisker.
 
“I wonder which style Miss Arrowpoint admires most,” was a thought that glanced through Gwendolen’s mind, while her eyes and lips gathered rather a mocking expression. But she would not indulge her sense of amusement by watching, as if she were curious, and she gave all her animation to those immediately around her, determined³⁶ not to care whether Mr. Grandcourt came near her again or not.
 
He did come, however, and at a moment when he could propose to conduct Mrs. Davilow to her carriage, “Shall we meet again in the ball-room?” she said as he raised his hat at parting. The “yes” in reply had the usual slight drawl and perfect gravity.
 
“You were wrong for once, Gwendolen,” said Mrs. Davilow, during their few minutes’ drive to the castle.
 
“In what, mamma?”
 
“About Mr. Grandcourt’s appearance and manners. You can’t find anything ridiculous in him.”
 
“I suppose I could if I tried, but I don’t want to do it,” said Gwendolen, rather pettishly³⁷; and her mother was afraid to say more.
 
It was the rule on these occasions for the ladies and gentlemen to dine apart, so that the dinner might make a time of comparative ease and rest for both. Indeed, the gentlemen had a set of archery stories about the epicurism³⁸ of the ladies, who had somehow been reported to show a revolting masculine judgment³⁹ in venison, even asking for the fat—a proof of the frightful⁴⁰ rate at which corruption⁴¹ might go on in women, but for severe social restraint, and every year the amiable⁴² Lord Brackenshaw, who was something of a gourmet⁴³, mentioned Byron’s opinion that a woman should never be seen eating,—introducing it with a confidential—“The fact is” as if he were for the first time admitting his concurrence⁴⁴ in that sentiment of the refined poet.
 
In the ladies’ dining-room it was evident that Gwendolen was not a general favorite with her own sex: there were no beginnings of intimacy⁴⁵ between her and other girls, and in conversation they rather noticed what she said than spoke to her in free exchange. Perhaps it was that she was not much interested in them, and when left alone in their company had a sense of empty benches. Mrs. Vulcany once remarked that Miss Harleth was too fond of the gentlemen; but we know that she was not in the least fond of them—she was only fond of their homage⁴⁶—and women did not give her homage. The exception to this willing aloofness⁴⁷ from her was Miss Arrowpoint, who often managed unostentatiously to be by her side, and talked to her with quiet friendliness⁴⁸.
 
“She knows, as I do, that our friends are ready to quarrel over a husband for us,” thought Gwendolen, “and she is determined not to enter into the quarrel.”
 
“I think Miss Arrowpoint has the best manners I ever saw,” said Mrs. Davilow, when she and Gwendolen were in a dressing-room with Mrs. Gascoigne and Anna, but at a distance where they could have their talk apart.
 
“I wish I were like her,” said Gwendolen.
 
“Why? Are you getting discontented with yourself, Gwen?”
 
“No; but I am discontented with things. She seems contented⁴⁹.”
 
“I am sure you ought to be satisfied to-day. You must have enjoyed the shooting. I saw you did.”
 
“Oh, that is over now, and I don’t know what will come next,” said Gwendolen, stretching herself with a sort of moan and throwing up her arms. They were bare now; it was the fashion to dance in the archery dress, throwing off the jacket; and the simplicity⁵⁰ of her white cashmere with its border of pale green set off her form to the utmost. A thin line of gold round her neck, and the gold star on her breast, were her only ornaments⁵¹. Her smooth soft hair piled up into a grand crown made a clear line about her brow. Sir Joshua would have been glad to take her portrait; and he would have had an easier task than the historian at least in this, that he would not have had to represent the truth of change—only to give stability to one beautiful moment.
 
“The dancing will come next,” said Mrs. Davilow “You are sure to enjoy that.”
 
“I shall only dance in the quadrille. I told Mr. Clintock so. I shall not waltz or polk with any one.”
 
“Why in the world do you say that all on a sudden?”
 
“I can’t bear having ugly people so near me.”
 
“Whom do you mean by ugly people?”
 
“Oh, plenty.”
 
“Mr. Clintock, for example, is not ugly.” Mrs. Davilow dared not mention Grandcourt.
 
“Well, I hate woolen⁵² cloth touching me.”
 
“Fancy!” said Mrs. Davilow to her sister who now came up from the other end of the room. “Gwendolen says she will not waltz or polk.”
 
“She is rather given to whims⁵³, I think,” said Mrs. Gascoigne, gravely. “It would be more becoming in her to behave as other young ladies do on such an occasion as this; especially when she has had the advantage of first-rate dancing lessons.”
 
“Why should I dance if I don’t like it, aunt? It is not in the catechism.”
 
“My dear!” said Mrs. Gascoigne, in a tone of severe check, and Anna looked frightened at Gwendolen’s daring. But they all passed on without saying any more.
 
Apparently something had changed Gwendolen’s mood since the hour of exulting⁵⁴ enjoyment⁵⁵ in the archery-ground. But she did not look the worse under the chandeliers in the ball-room, where the soft splendor⁵⁶ of the scene and the pleasant odors from the conservatory⁵⁷ could not but be soothing⁵⁸ to the temper, when accompanied with the consciousness of being preeminently sought for. Hardly a dancing man but was anxious to have her for a partner, and each whom she accepted was in a state of melancholy⁵⁹ remonstrance⁶⁰ that she would not waltz or polk.
 
“Are you under a vow⁶¹, Miss Harleth?”—“Why are you so cruel to us all?”—“You waltzed with me in February.”&mdas............