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House
    Thackeray:
Vanity Fair
    Henry James:
The Bostonians, Washington Square
    “Washington Square? That’s where we are now, the same?” Anna cried.
    “The very same. Henry James lived not far from here before he went to live in England. My family, my father’s people, knew him well. My mother’s family came from Boston.”
    “Really American,” Anna murmured.
    “No more than you. We just arrived sooner. You can be as American as anyone, never think otherwise. That’s what this country is all about, Anna.”
    Anna said, suddenly troubled, “I only wish, I wish I had more time to read all these books. It takes me so long.”
    “You’ll find the time. You can get a lot done just on Sundays alone.”
    “Sundays I work.” And as Miss Thorne looked puzzled, she explained, “I took the afternoon off today because you invited me and I was so honored, I wanted so much to come. But I’m really supposed to be working.”
    “I see. Sewing, where you live at home.”
    Anna nodded.
    “Tell me, then, is there any place where you can read by yourself? I suppose not.”
    “Alone? Oh, no! Only on the front stoop when the weather is warm, and it’s noisy enough there. But in cold weather, there’s no place. It’s so hard even to write to my brothers. With everybody talking I can’t think of what I want to say.”
    “A pity, a pity. And so many empty rooms in this house alone. If only one could do what one wants to do. One thing, though: my niece is about your size, and I’m going to ask her whether she has a good warm coat to give away. It would be better—shall we say, more American?—than your shawl. Also, I have duplicate copies of a few of the books on this list and I’m going to give them to you to keep, so you can start to build a library of your own. I’ll get the things to you, since it’s hard for you to take time to come here.”
    Anna put the shawl around her shoulders and they went out into the hall. On the other side a door was ajar; a room was filled with books from ceiling to floor; a little boy was practicing at a huge dark piano.
    “You don’t mind the offer of the coat, Anna?”
    “Mind? Oh, no, I’m glad, I want a coat!”
    “Someday you’ll be one of the people who gives, I’m sure you will.”
    “I shall be happy to give if that day ever comes, Miss Thorne.”
    “It will. And when it does I hope we shall still know each other. Then I’ll remind you of what I said.”
    I don’t believe we shall know each other, almost surely not. But just as surely, I will remember Miss Mary Thorne. Yes, I will, always.

5

    “You must be Anna,” the young man said.
    He stood above her as she sat reading on the steps:
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks—
    Unwillingly she returned to the street, stilled on the Sabbath afternoon, the old men in their long black coats walking on quiet feet, and now this new voice prodding softly.
    “May I?”
    “Of course. Sit.” She moved over, observing him without seeming to. Medium, he was. Medium height and age; medium brown suit, eyes and hair; medium features in a neatly fashioned face.
    “I’m Joseph. Joseph Friedman, Solly’s cousin.”
    The American, so called because he had been born in New York. The house painter from uptown. And of course Ruth had arranged this. The same as Aunt Rosa! They can’t rest until they’ve got a man for you. He can be ugly, stupid, anything, as long as he’s a man. Not that this one is ugly, but I wanted to read and I’m not thinking about men right now anyway.
    “Ruth asked me to come down here to meet you. To tell you the truth, I almost didn’t come. They’ve tried to hitch me up to every girl who ever got off a boat; I was getting tired of it. But I can tell straight away I’m glad I came this time.”
    Anna stared at him, weighing his astonishing words. Butthere was no conceit in his face, only the direct and simple return of her look.
    “I’m so embarrassed,” she said.