her, irresistibly, by this effect
of silence, by this effect of waiting and watching, by this effect,
unmistakably, of timing her indecision and her fear. If then, scared and
hanging back, she had, as was so evident, sacrificed all past pretences,
it would have been with the instant knowledge of an immense advantage
gained that Charlotte finally saw her come on. Maggie came on with her
heart in her hands; she came on with the definite prevision, throbbing
like the tick of a watch, of a doom impossibly sharp and hard, but to
which, after looking at it with her eyes wide open, she had none the
less bowed her head. By the time she was at her companion's side, for
that matter, by the time Charlotte had, without a motion, without a
word, simply let her approach and stand there, her head was already
on the block, so that the consciousness that everything had now gone
blurred all perception of whether or no the axe had fallen. Oh, the
"advantage," it was perfectly enough, in truth, with Mrs. Verver; for
what was Maggie's own sense but that of having been thrown over on her
back, with her neck, from the first, half broken and her helpless face
staring up? That position only could account for the positive grimace of
weakness and pain produced there by Charlotte's dignity.

"I've come to join you--I thought you would be here."

"Oh yes, I'm here," Maggie heard herself return a little flatly. "It's
too close in-doors."

"Very--but close even here." Charlotte was still and grave--she had even
uttered her remark about the temperature with an expressive weight that
verged upon solemnity; so that Maggie, reduced to looking vaguely about
at the sky, could only feel her not fail of her purpose. "The air's
heavy as if with thunder--I think there'll be a storm." She made the
suggestion to carry off an awkwardness--which was a part, always, of
her companion's gain; but the awkwardness didn't diminish in the silence
that followed. Charlotte had said nothing in reply; her brow was dark
as with a fixed expression, and her high elegance, her handsome head
and long, straight neck testified, through the dusk, to their inveterate
completeness and noble erectness. It was as if what she had come out
to do had already begun, and when, as a consequence, Maggie had said
helplessly, "Don't you want something? won't you have my shawl?"
everything might have crumbled away in the comparative poverty of the
tribute. Mrs. Verver's rejection of it had the