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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Portrait of a Lady, by Henry James
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Portrait of a Lady
+       Volume 2 (of 2)
+
+Author: Henry James
+
+Posting Date: December 1, 2008 [EBook #2834]
+Release Date: September, 2001
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Eve Sobol
+
+
+
+
+
+THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY
+
+VOLUME II (of II)
+
+
+By Henry James
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+On the morrow, in the evening, Lord Warburton went again to see his
+friends at their hotel, and at this establishment he learned that they
+had gone to the opera. He drove to the opera with the idea of paying
+them a visit in their box after the easy Italian fashion; and when
+he had obtained his admittance--it was one of the secondary
+theatres--looked about the large, bare, ill-lighted house. An act
+had just terminated and he was at liberty to pursue his quest. After
+scanning two or three tiers of boxes he perceived in one of the largest
+of these receptacles a lady whom he easily recognised. Miss Archer was
+seated facing the stage and partly screened by the curtain of the box;
+and beside her, leaning back in his chair, was Mr. Gilbert Osmond. They
+appeared to have the place to themselves, and Warburton supposed their
+companions had taken advantage of the recess to enjoy the relative
+coolness of the lobby. He stood a while with his eyes on the interesting
+pair; he asked himself if he should go up and interrupt the harmony. At
+last he judged that Isabel had seen him, and this accident determined
+him. There should be no marked holding off. He took his way to the upper
+regions and on the staircase met Ralph Touchett slowly descending, his
+hat at the inclination of ennui and his hands where they usually were.
+
+"I saw you below a moment since and was going down to you. I feel lonely
+and want company," was Ralph's greeting.
+
+"You've some that's very good which you've yet deserted."
+
+"Do you mean my cousin? Oh, she has a visitor and doesn't want me. Then
+Miss Stackpole and Bantling have gone out to a cafe to eat an ice--Miss
+Stackpole delights in an ice. I didn't think they wanted me either.
+The opera's very bad; the women look like laundresses and sing like
+peacocks. I feel very low."
+
+"You had better go home," Lord Warburton said without affectation.
+
+"And leave my young lady in this sad place? Ah no, I must watch over
+her."
+
+"She seems to have plenty of friends."
+
+"Yes, that's why I must watch," said Ralph with the same large
+mock-melancholy.
+
+"If she doesn't want you it's probable she doesn't want me."
+
+"No, you're different. Go to the box and stay there while I walk about."
+
+Lord Warburton went to the box, where Isabel's welcome was as to a
+friend so honourably old that he vaguely asked himself what queer
+temporal province she was annexing. He exchanged greetings with Mr.
+Osmond, to whom he had been introduced the day before and who, after he
+came in, sat blandly apart and silent, as if repudiating competence in
+the subjects of allusion now probable. It struck her second visitor
+that Miss Archer had, in operatic conditions, a radiance, even a
+slight exaltation; as she was, however, at all times a keenly-glancing,
+quickly-moving, completely animated young woman, he may have been
+mistaken on this point. Her talk with him moreover pointed to presence
+of mind; it expressed a kindness so ingenious and deliberate as to
+indicate that she was in undisturbed possession of her faculties. Poor
+Lord Warburton had moments of bewilderment. She had discouraged him,
+formally, as much as a woman could; what business had she then with
+such arts and such felicities, above all with such tones of
+reparation--preparation? Her voice had tricks of sweetness, but why play
+them on HIM? The others came back; the bare, familiar, trivial opera
+began again. The box was large, and there was room for him to remain
+if he would sit a little behind and in the dark. He did so for half an
+hour, while Mr. Osmond remained in front, leaning forward, his elbows
+on his knees, just behind Isabel. Lord Warburton heard nothing, and from
+his gloomy corner saw nothing but the clear profile of this young
+lady defined against the dim illumination of the house. When there was
+another interval no one moved. Mr. Osmond talked to Isabel, and Lord
+Warburton kept his corner. He did so but for a short time, however;
+after which he got up and bade good-night to the ladies. Isabel said
+nothing to detain him, but it didn't prevent his being puzzled again.
+Why should she mark so one of his values--quite the wrong one--when she
+would have nothing to do with another, which was quite the right? He was
+angry with himself for being puzzled, and then angry for being angry.
+Verdi's music did little to comfort him, and he left the theatre and
+walked homeward, without knowing his way, through the tortuous, tragic
+streets of Rome, where heavier sorrows than his had been carried under
+the stars.
+
+"What's the character of that gentleman?" Osmond asked of Isabel after
+he had retired.
+
+"Irreproachable--don't you see it?"
+
+"He owns about half England; that's his character," Henrietta remarked.
+"That's what they call a free country!"
+
+"Ah, he's a great proprietor? Happy man!" said Gilbert Osmond.
+
+"Do you call that happiness--the ownership of wretched human beings?"
+cried Miss Stackpole. "He owns his tenants and has thousands of them.
+It's pleasant to own something, but inanimate objects are enough for me.
+I don't insist on flesh and blood and minds and consciences."
+
+"It seems to me you own a human being or two," Mr. Bantling suggested
+jocosely. "I wonder if Warburton orders his tenants about as you do me."
+
+"Lord Warburton's a great radical," Isabel said. "He has very advanced
+opinions."
+
+"He has very advanced stone walls. His park's enclosed by a gigantic
+iron fence, some thirty miles round," Henrietta announced for the
+information of Mr. Osmond. "I should like him to converse with a few of
+our Boston radicals."
+
+"Don't they approve of iron fences?" asked Mr. Bantling.
+
+"Only to shut up wicked conservatives. I always feel as if I were
+talking to YOU over something with a neat top-finish of broken glass."
+
+"Do you know him well, this unreformed reformer?" Osmond went on,
+questioning Isabel.
+
+"Well enough for all the use I have for him."
+
+"And how much of a use is that?"
+
+"Well, I like to like him."
+
+"'Liking to like'--why, it makes a passion!" said Osmond.
+
+"No"--she considered--"keep that for liking to DISlike."
+
+"Do you wish to provoke me then," Osmond laughed, "to a passion for
+HIM?"
+
+She said nothing for a moment, but then met the light question with a
+disproportionate gravity. "No, Mr. Osmond; I don't think I should ever
+dare to provoke you. Lord Warburton, at any rate," she more easily
+added, "is a very nice man."
+
+"Of great ability?" her friend enquired.
+
+"Of excellent ability, and as good as he looks."
+
+"As good as he's good-looking do you mean? He's very good-looking. How
+detestably fortunate!--to be a great English magnate, to be clever and
+handsome into the bargain, and, by way of finishing off, to enjoy your
+high favour! That's a man I could envy."
+
+Isabel considered him with interest. "You seem to me to be always
+envying some one. Yesterday it was the Pope; to-day it's poor Lord
+Warburton."
+
+"My envy's not dangerous; it wouldn't hurt a mouse. I don't want to
+destroy the people--I only want to BE them. You see it would destroy
+only myself."
+
+"You'd like to be the Pope?" said Isabel.
+
+"I should love it--but I should have gone in for it earlier. But
+why"--Osmond reverted--"do you speak of your friend as poor?"
+
+"Women--when they are very, very good sometimes pity men after they've
+hurt them; that's their great way of showing kindness," said Ralph,
+joining in the conversation for the first time and with a cynicism so
+transparently ingenious as to be virtually innocent.
+
+"Pray, have I hurt Lord Warburton?" Isabel asked, raising her eyebrows
+as if the idea were perfectly fresh.
+
+"It serves him right if you have," said Henrietta while the curtain rose
+for the ballet.
+
+Isabel saw no more of her attributive victim for the next twenty-four
+hours, but on the second day after the visit to the opera she
+encountered him in the gallery of the Capitol, where he stood before the
+lion of the collection, the statue of the Dying Gladiator. She had come
+in with her companions, among whom, on this occasion again, Gilbert
+Osmond had his place, and the party, having ascended the staircase,
+entered the first and finest of the rooms. Lord Warburton addressed her
+alertly enough, but said in a moment that he was leaving the gallery.
+"And I'm leaving Rome," he added. "I must bid you goodbye." Isabel,
+inconsequently enough, was now sorry to hear it. This was perhaps
+because she had ceased to be afraid of his renewing his suit; she was
+thinking of something else. She was on the point of naming her regret,
+but she checked herself and simply wished him a happy journey; which
+made him look at her rather unlightedly. "I'm afraid you'll think me
+very 'volatile.' I told you the other day I wanted so much to stop."
+
+"Oh no; you could easily change your mind."
+
+"That's what I have done."
+
+"Bon voyage then."
+
+"You're in a great hurry to get rid of me," said his lordship quite
+dismally.
+
+"Not in the least. But I hate partings."
+
+"You don't care what I do," he went on pitifully.
+
+Isabel looked at him a moment. "Ah," she said, "you're not keeping your
+promise!"
+
+He coloured like a boy of fifteen. "If I'm not, then it's because I
+can't; and that's why I'm going."
+
+"Good-bye then."
+
+"Good-bye." He lingered still, however. "When shall I see you again?"
+
+Isabel hesitated, but soon, as if she had had a happy inspiration: "Some
+day after you're married."
+
+"That will never be. It will be after you are."
+
+"That will do as well," she smiled.
+
+"Yes, quite as well. Good-bye."
+
+They shook hands, and he left her alone in the glorious room, among the
+shining antique marbles. She sat down in the centre of the circle of
+these presences, regarding them vaguely, resting her eyes on their
+beautiful blank faces; listening, as it were, to their eternal silence.
+It is impossible, in Rome at least, to look long at a great company of
+Greek sculptures without feeling the effect of their noble quietude;
+which, as with a high door closed for the ceremony, slowly drops on
+the spirit the large white mantle of peace. I say in Rome especially,
+because the Roman air is an exquisite medium for such impressions. The
+golden sunshine mingles with them, the deep stillness of the past, so
+vivid yet, though it is nothing but a void full of names, seems to throw
+a solemn spell upon them. The blinds were partly closed in the windows
+of the Capitol, and a clear, warm shadow rested on the figures and made
+them more mildly human. Isabel sat there a long time, under the charm
+of their motionless grace, wondering to what, of their experience, their
+absent eyes were open, and how, to our ears, their alien lips would
+sound. The dark red walls of the room threw them into relief; the
+polished marble floor reflected their beauty. She had seen them all
+before, but her enjoyment repeated itself, and it was all the greater
+because she was glad again, for the time, to be alone. At last, however,
+her attention lapsed, drawn off by a deeper tide of life. An occasional
+tourist came in, stopped and stared a moment at the Dying Gladiator, and
+then passed out of the other door, creaking over the smooth pavement. At
+the end of half an hour Gilbert Osmond reappeared, apparently in advance
+of his companions. He strolled toward her slowly, with his hands
+behind him and his usual enquiring, yet not quite appealing smile. "I'm
+surprised to find you alone, I thought you had company.
+
+"So I have--the best." And she glanced at the Antinous and the Faun.
+
+"Do you call them better company than an English peer?"
+
+"Ah, my English peer left me some time ago." She got up, speaking with
+intention a little dryly.
+
+Mr. Osmond noted her dryness, which contributed for him to the interest
+of his question. "I'm afraid that what I heard the other evening is
+true: you're rather cruel to that nobleman."
+
+Isabel looked a moment at the vanquished Gladiator. "It's not true. I'm
+scrupulously kind."
+
+"That's exactly what I mean!" Gilbert Osmond returned, and with such
+happy hilarity that his joke needs to be explained. We know that he was
+fond of originals, of rarities, of the superior and the exquisite; and
+now that he had seen Lord Warburton, whom he thought a very fine example
+of his race and order, he perceived a new attraction in the idea of
+taking to himself a young lady who had qualified herself to figure in
+his collection of choice objects by declining so noble a hand. Gilbert
+Osmond had a high appreciation of this particular patriciate; not so
+much for its distinction, which he thought easily surpassable, as for
+its solid actuality. He had never forgiven his star for not appointing
+him to an English dukedom, and he could measure the unexpectedness of
+such conduct as Isabel's. It would be proper that the woman he might
+marry should have done something of that sort.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+Ralph Touchett, in talk with his excellent friend, had rather markedly
+qualified, as we know, his recognition of Gilbert Osmond's personal
+merits; but he might really have felt himself illiberal in the light of
+that gentleman's conduct during the rest of the visit to Rome. Osmond
+spent a portion of each day with Isabel and her companions, and ended
+by affecting them as the easiest of men to live with. Who wouldn't have
+seen that he could command, as it were, both tact and gaiety?--which
+perhaps was exactly why Ralph had made his old-time look of superficial
+sociability a reproach to him. Even Isabel's invidious kinsman was
+obliged to admit that he was just now a delightful associate. His
+good humour was imperturbable, his knowledge of the right fact, his
+production of the right word, as convenient as the friendly flicker of
+a match for your cigarette. Clearly he was amused--as amused as a man
+could be who was so little ever surprised, and that made him almost
+applausive. It was not that his spirits were visibly high--he would
+never, in the concert of pleasure, touch the big drum by so much as a
+knuckle: he had a mortal dislike to the high, ragged note, to what
+he called random ravings. He thought Miss Archer sometimes of too
+precipitate a readiness. It was pity she had that fault, because if she
+had not had it she would really have had none; she would have been as
+smooth to his general need of her as handled ivory to the palm. If he
+was not personally loud, however, he was deep, and during these closing
+days of the Roman May he knew a complacency that matched with slow
+irregular walks under the pines of the Villa Borghese, among the
+small sweet meadow-flowers and the mossy marbles. He was pleased with
+everything; he had never before been pleased with so many things at
+once. Old impressions, old enjoyments, renewed themselves; one evening,
+going home to his room at the inn, he wrote down a little sonnet to
+which he prefixed the title of "Rome Revisited." A day or two later he
+showed this piece of correct and ingenious verse to Isabel, explaining
+to her that it was an Italian fashion to commemorate the occasions of
+life by a tribute to the muse.
+
+He took his pleasures in general singly; he was too often--he would have
+admitted that--too sorely aware of something wrong, something ugly; the
+fertilising dew of a conceivable felicity too seldom descended on his
+spirit. But at present he was happy--happier than he had perhaps ever
+been in his life, and the feeling had a large foundation. This was
+simply the sense of success--the most agreeable emotion of the human
+heart. Osmond had never had too much of it; in this respect he had the
+irritation of satiety, as he knew perfectly well and often reminded
+himself. "Ah no, I've not been spoiled; certainly I've not been
+spoiled," he used inwardly to repeat. "If I do succeed before I die
+I shall thoroughly have earned it." He was too apt to reason as if
+"earning" this boon consisted above all of covertly aching for it and
+might be confined to that exercise. Absolutely void of it, also, his
+career had not been; he might indeed have suggested to a spectator here
+and there that he was resting on vague laurels. But his triumphs were,
+some of them, now too old; others had been too easy. The present one had
+been less arduous than might have been expected, but had been easy--that
+is had been rapid--only because he had made an altogether exceptional
+effort, a greater effort than he had believed it in him to make. The
+desire to have something or other to show for his "parts"--to show
+somehow or other--had been the dream of his youth; but as the years went
+on the conditions attached to any marked proof of rarity had affected
+him more and more as gross and detestable; like the swallowing of mugs
+of beer to advertise what one could "stand." If an anonymous drawing on
+a museum wall had been conscious and watchful it might have known this
+peculiar pleasure of being at last and all of a sudden identified--as
+from the hand of a great master--by the so high and so unnoticed fact of
+style. His "style" was what the girl had discovered with a little help;
+and now, beside herself enjoying it, she should publish it to the world
+without his having any of the trouble. She should do the thing FOR him,
+and he would not have waited in vain.
+
+Shortly before the time fixed in advance for her departure this young
+lady received from Mrs. Touchett a telegram running as follows: "Leave
+Florence 4th June for Bellaggio, and take you if you have not other
+views. But can't wait if you dawdle in Rome." The dawdling in Rome was
+very pleasant, but Isabel had different views, and she let her aunt know
+she would immediately join her. She told Gilbert Osmond that she had
+done so, and he replied that, spending many of his summers as well as
+his winters in Italy, he himself would loiter a little longer in the
+cool shadow of Saint Peter's. He would not return to Florence for ten
+days more, and in that time she would have started for Bellaggio.
+It might be months in this case before he should see her again. This
+exchange took place in the large decorated sitting-room occupied by our
+friends at the hotel; it was late in the evening, and Ralph Touchett was
+to take his cousin back to Florence on the morrow. Osmond had found the
+girl alone; Miss Stackpole had contracted a friendship with a delightful
+American family on the fourth floor and had mounted the interminable
+staircase to pay them a visit. Henrietta contracted friendships, in
+travelling, with great freedom, and had formed in railway-carriages
+several that were among her most valued ties. Ralph was making
+arrangements for the morrow's journey, and Isabel sat alone in a
+wilderness of yellow upholstery. The chairs and sofas were orange;
+the walls and windows were draped in purple and gilt. The mirrors, the
+pictures had great flamboyant frames; the ceiling was deeply vaulted and
+painted over with naked muses and cherubs. For Osmond the place was ugly
+to distress; the false colours, the sham splendour were like vulgar,
+bragging, lying talk. Isabel had taken in hand a volume of Ampere,
+presented, on their arrival in Rome, by Ralph; but though she held it in
+her lap with her finger vaguely kept in the place she was not impatient
+to pursue her study. A lamp covered with a drooping veil of pink
+tissue-paper burned on the table beside her and diffused a strange pale
+rosiness over the scene.
+
+"You say you'll come back; but who knows?" Gilbert Osmond said.
+
+"I think you're much more likely to start on your voyage round the
+world. You're under no obligation to come back; you can do exactly what
+you choose; you can roam through space."
+
+"Well, Italy's a part of space," Isabel answered. "I can take it on the
+way."
+
+"On the way round the world? No, don't do that. Don't put us in a
+parenthesis--give us a chapter to ourselves. I don't want to see you on
+your travels. I'd rather see you when they're over. I should like to see
+you when you're tired and satiated," Osmond added in a moment. "I shall
+prefer you in that state."
+
+Isabel, with her eyes bent, fingered the pages of M. Ampere. "You turn
+things into ridicule without seeming to do it, though not, I think,
+without intending it. You've no respect for my travels--you think them
+ridiculous."
+
+"Where do you find that?"
+
+She went on in the same tone, fretting the edge of her book with the
+paper-knife. "You see my ignorance, my blunders, the way I wander about
+as if the world belonged to me, simply because--because it has been put
+into my power to do so. You don't think a woman ought to do that. You
+think it bold and ungraceful."
+
+"I think it beautiful," said Osmond. "You know my opinions--I've treated
+you to enough of them. Don't you remember my telling you that one ought
+to make one's life a work of art? You looked rather shocked at first;
+but then I told you that it was exactly what you seemed to me to be
+trying to do with your own."
+
+She looked up from her book. "What you despise most in the world is bad,
+is stupid art."
+
+"Possibly. But yours seem to me very clear and very good."
+
+"If I were to go to Japan next winter you would laugh at me," she went
+on.
+
+Osmond gave a smile--a keen one, but not a laugh, for the tone of their
+conversation was not jocose. Isabel had in fact her solemnity; he had
+seen it before. "You have one!"
+
+"That's exactly what I say. You think such an idea absurd."
+
+"I would give my little finger to go to Japan; it's one of the countries
+I want most to see. Can't you believe that, with my taste for old
+lacquer?"
+
+"I haven't a taste for old lacquer to excuse me," said Isabel.
+
+"You've a better excuse--the means of going. You're quite wrong in
+your theory that I laugh at you. I don't know what has put it into your
+head."
+
+"It wouldn't be remarkable if you did think it ridiculous that I should
+have the means to travel when you've not; for you know everything and I
+know nothing."
+
+"The more reason why you should travel and learn," smiled Osmond.
+"Besides," he added as if it were a point to be made, "I don't know
+everything."
+
+Isabel was not struck with the oddity of his saying this gravely; she
+was thinking that the pleasantest incident of her life--so it pleased
+her to qualify these too few days in Rome, which she might musingly have
+likened to the figure of some small princess of one of the ages of dress
+overmuffled in a mantle of state and dragging a train that it took pages
+or historians to hold up--that this felicity was coming to an end. That
+most of the interest of the time had been owing to Mr. Osmond was a
+reflexion she was not just now at pains to make; she had already done
+the point abundant justice. But she said to herself that if there were
+a danger they should never meet again, perhaps after all it would be
+as well. Happy things don't repeat themselves, and her adventure wore
+already the changed, the seaward face of some romantic island from
+which, after feasting on purple grapes, she was putting off while the
+breeze rose. She might come back to Italy and find him different--this
+strange man who pleased her just as he was; and it would be better
+not to come than run the risk of that. But if she was not to come the
+greater the pity that the chapter was closed; she felt for a moment a
+pang that touched the source of tears. The sensation kept her
+silent, and Gilbert Osmond was silent too; he was looking at her. "Go
+everywhere," he said at last, in a low, kind voice; "do everything; get
+everything out of life. Be happy,--be triumphant."
+
+"What do you mean by being triumphant?"
+
+"Well, doing what you like."
+
+"To triumph, then, it seems to me, is to fail! Doing all the vain things
+one likes is often very tiresome."
+
+"Exactly," said Osmond with his quiet quickness. "As I intimated just
+now, you'll be tired some day." He paused a moment and then he went on:
+"I don't know whether I had better not wait till then for something I
+want to say to you."
+
+"Ah, I can't advise you without knowing what it is. But I'm horrid when
+I'm tired," Isabel added with due inconsequence.
+
+"I don't believe that. You're angry, sometimes--that I can believe,
+though I've never seen it. But I'm sure you're never 'cross.'"
+
+"Not even when I lose my temper?"
+
+"You don't lose it--you find it, and that must be beautiful." Osmond
+spoke with a noble earnestness. "They must be great moments to see."
+
+"If I could only find it now!" Isabel nervously cried.
+
+"I'm not afraid; I should fold my arms and admire you. I'm speaking very
+seriously." He leaned forward, a hand on each knee; for some moments he
+bent his eyes on the floor. "What I wish to say to you," he went on at
+last, looking up, "is that I find I'm in love with you."
+
+She instantly rose. "Ah, keep that till I am tired!"
+
+"Tired of hearing it from others?" He sat there raising his eyes to her.
+"No, you may heed it now or never, as you please. But after all I must
+say it now." She had turned away, but in the movement she had stopped
+herself and dropped her gaze upon him. The two remained a while in this
+situation, exchanging a long look--the large, conscious look of the
+critical hours of life. Then he got up and came near her, deeply
+respectful, as if he were afraid he had been too familiar. "I'm
+absolutely in love with you."
+
+He had repeated the announcement in a tone of almost impersonal
+discretion, like a man who expected very little from it but who spoke
+for his own needed relief. The tears came into her eyes: this time
+they obeyed the sharpness of the pang that suggested to her somehow
+the slipping of a fine bolt--backward, forward, she couldn't have said
+which. The words he had uttered made him, as he stood there, beautiful
+and generous, invested him as with the golden air of early autumn; but,
+morally speaking, she retreated before them--facing him still--as she
+had retreated in the other cases before a like encounter. "Oh don't say
+that, please," she answered with an intensity that expressed the dread
+of having, in this case too, to choose and decide. What made her dread
+great was precisely the force which, as it would seem, ought to have
+banished all dread--the sense of something within herself, deep down,
+that she supposed to be inspired and trustful passion. It was there
+like a large sum stored in a bank--which there was a terror in having to
+begin to spend. If she touched it, it would all come out.
+
+"I haven't the idea that it will matter much to you," said Osmond. "I've
+too little to offer you. What I have--it's enough for me; but it's not
+enough for you. I've neither fortune, nor fame, nor extrinsic advantages
+of any kind. So I offer nothing. I only tell you because I think it
+can't offend you, and some day or other it may give you pleasure. It
+gives me pleasure, I assure you," he went on, standing there before her,
+considerately inclined to her, turning his hat, which he had taken
+up, slowly round with a movement which had all the decent tremor of
+awkwardness and none of its oddity, and presenting to her his firm,
+refined, slightly ravaged face. "It gives me no pain, because it's
+perfectly simple. For me you'll always be the most important woman in
+the world."
+
+Isabel looked at herself in this character--looked intently, thinking
+she filled it with a certain grace. But what she said was not an
+expression of any such complacency. "You don't offend me; but you
+ought to remember that, without being offended, one may be incommoded,
+troubled." "Incommoded," she heard herself saying that, and it struck
+her as a ridiculous word. But it was what stupidly came to her.
+
+"I remember perfectly. Of course you're surprised and startled. But
+if it's nothing but that, it will pass away. And it will perhaps leave
+something that I may not be ashamed of."
+
+"I don't know what it may leave. You see at all events that I'm not
+overwhelmed," said Isabel with rather a pale smile. "I'm not too
+troubled to think. And I think that I'm glad I leave Rome to-morrow."
+
+"Of course I don't agree with you there."
+
+"I don't at all KNOW you," she added abruptly; and then she coloured as
+she heard herself saying what she had said almost a year before to Lord
+Warburton.
+
+"If you were not going away you'd know me better."
+
+"I shall do that some other time."
+
+"I hope so. I'm very easy to know."
+
+"No, no," she emphatically answered--"there you're not sincere. You're
+not easy to know; no one could be less so."
+
+"Well," he laughed, "I said that because I know myself. It may be a
+boast, but I do."
+
+"Very likely; but you're very wise."
+
+"So are you, Miss Archer!" Osmond exclaimed.
+
+"I don't feel so just now. Still, I'm wise enough to think you had
+better go. Good-night."
+
+"God bless you!" said Gilbert Osmond, taking the hand which she failed
+to surrender. After which he added: "If we meet again you'll find me as
+you leave me. If we don't I shall be so all the same."
+
+"Thank you very much. Good-bye."
+
+There was something quietly firm about Isabel's visitor; he might go of
+his own movement, but wouldn't be dismissed. "There's one thing more.
+I haven't asked anything of you--not even a thought in the future; you
+must do me that justice. But there's a little service I should like to
+ask. I shall not return home for several days; Rome's delightful, and
+it's a good place for a man in my state of mind. Oh, I know you're sorry
+to leave it; but you're right to do what your aunt wishes."
+
+"She doesn't even wish it!" Isabel broke out strangely.
+
+Osmond was apparently on the point of saying something that would match
+these words, but he changed his mind and rejoined simply: "Ah well, it's
+proper you should go with her, very proper. Do everything that's proper;
+I go in for that. Excuse my being so patronising. You say you don't
+know me, but when you do you'll discover what a worship I have for
+propriety."
+
+"You're not conventional?" Isabel gravely asked.
+
+"I like the way you utter that word! No, I'm not conventional: I'm
+convention itself. You don't understand that?" And he paused a moment,
+smiling. "I should like to explain it." Then with a sudden, quick,
+bright naturalness, "Do come back again," he pleaded. "There are so many
+things we might talk about."
+
+She stood there with lowered eyes. "What service did you speak of just
+now?"
+
+"Go and see my little daughter before you leave Florence. She's alone at
+the villa; I decided not to send her to my sister, who hasn't at all my
+ideas. Tell her she must love her poor father very much," said Gilbert
+Osmond gently.
+
+"It will be a great pleasure to me to go," Isabel answered. "I'll tell
+her what you say. Once more good-bye."
+
+On this he took a rapid, respectful leave. When he had gone she stood
+a moment looking about her and seated herself slowly and with an air of
+deliberation. She sat there till her companions came back, with
+folded hands, gazing at the ugly carpet. Her agitation--for it had not
+diminished--was very still, very deep. What had happened was something
+that for a week past her imagination had been going forward to meet; but
+here, when it came, she stopped--that sublime principle somehow broke
+down. The working of this young lady's spirit was strange, and I can
+only give it to you as I see it, not hoping to make it seem altogether
+natural. Her imagination, as I say, now hung back: there was a last
+vague space it couldn't cross--a dusky, uncertain tract which looked
+ambiguous and even slightly treacherous, like a moorland seen in the
+winter twilight. But she was to cross it yet.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+She returned on the morrow to Florence, under her cousin's escort, and
+Ralph Touchett, though usually restive under railway discipline, thought
+very well of the successive hours passed in the train that hurried
+his companion away from the city now distinguished by Gilbert Osmond's
+preference--hours that were to form the first stage in a larger scheme
+of travel. Miss Stackpole had remained behind; she was planning a little
+trip to Naples, to be carried out with Mr. Bantling's aid. Isabel was
+to have three days in Florence before the 4th of June, the date of Mrs.
+Touchett's departure, and she determined to devote the last of these
+to her promise to call on Pansy Osmond. Her plan, however, seemed for
+a moment likely to modify itself in deference to an idea of Madame
+Merle's. This lady was still at Casa Touchett; but she too was on the
+point of leaving Florence, her next station being an ancient castle
+in the mountains of Tuscany, the residence of a noble family of that
+country, whose acquaintance (she had known them, as she said, "forever")
+seemed to Isabel, in the light of certain photographs of their immense
+crenellated dwelling which her friend was able to show her, a precious
+privilege. She mentioned to this fortunate woman that Mr. Osmond had
+asked her to take a look at his daughter, but didn't mention that he had
+also made her a declaration of love.
+
+"Ah, comme cela se trouve!" Madame Merle exclaimed. "I myself have been
+thinking it would be a kindness to pay the child a little visit before I
+go off."
+
+"We can go together then," Isabel reasonably said: "reasonably" because
+the proposal was not uttered in the spirit of enthusiasm. She had
+prefigured her small pilgrimage as made in solitude; she should like
+it better so. She was nevertheless prepared to sacrifice this mystic
+sentiment to her great consideration for her friend.
+
+That personage finely meditated. "After all, why should we both go;
+having, each of us, so much to do during these last hours?"
+
+"Very good; I can easily go alone."
+
+"I don't know about your going alone--to the house of a handsome
+bachelor. He has been married--but so long ago!"
+
+Isabel stared. "When Mr. Osmond's away what does it matter?"
+
+"They don't know he's away, you see."
+
+"They? Whom do you mean?"
+
+"Every one. But perhaps it doesn't signify."
+
+"If you were going why shouldn't I?" Isabel asked.
+
+"Because I'm an old frump and you're a beautiful young woman."
+
+"Granting all that, you've not promised."
+
+"How much you think of your promises!" said the elder woman in mild
+mockery.
+
+"I think a great deal of my promises. Does that surprise you?"
+
+"You're right," Madame Merle audibly reflected. "I really think you wish
+to be kind to the child."
+
+"I wish very much to be kind to her."
+
+"Go and see her then; no one will be the wiser. And tell her I'd have
+come if you hadn't. Or rather," Madame Merle added, "DON'T tell her. She
+won't care."
+
+As Isabel drove, in the publicity of an open vehicle, along the winding
+way which led to Mr. Osmond's hill-top, she wondered what her friend had
+meant by no one's being the wiser. Once in a while, at large intervals,
+this lady, whose voyaging discretion, as a general thing, was rather of
+the open sea than of the risky channel, dropped a remark of ambiguous
+quality, struck a note that sounded false. What cared Isabel Archer for
+the vulgar judgements of obscure people? and did Madame Merle suppose
+that she was capable of doing a thing at all if it had to be sneakingly
+done? Of course not: she must have meant something else--something which
+in the press of the hours that preceded her departure she had not had
+time to explain. Isabel would return to this some day; there were sorts
+of things as to which she liked to be clear. She heard Pansy strumming
+at the piano in another place as she herself was ushered into Mr.
+Osmond's drawing-room; the little girl was "practising," and Isabel was
+pleased to think she performed this duty with rigour. She immediately
+came in, smoothing down her frock, and did the honours of her father's
+house with a wide-eyed earnestness of courtesy. Isabel sat there half an
+hour, and Pansy rose to the occasion as the small, winged fairy in the
+pantomime soars by the aid of the dissimulated wire--not chattering, but
+conversing, and showing the same respectful interest in Isabel's affairs
+that Isabel was so good as to take in hers. Isabel wondered at her;
+she had never had so directly presented to her nose the white flower
+of cultivated sweetness. How well the child had been taught, said our
+admiring young woman; how prettily she had been directed and fashioned;
+and yet how simple, how natural, how innocent she had been kept! Isabel
+was fond, ever, of the question of character and quality, of sounding,
+as who should say, the deep personal mystery, and it had pleased her,
+up to this time, to be in doubt as to whether this tender slip were not
+really all-knowing. Was the extremity of her candour but the perfection
+of self-consciousness? Was it put on to please her father's visitor,
+or was it the direct expression of an unspotted nature? The hour that
+Isabel spent in Mr. Osmond's beautiful empty, dusky rooms--the windows
+had been half-darkened, to keep out the heat, and here and there,
+through an easy crevice, the splendid summer day peeped in, lighting a
+gleam of faded colour or tarnished gilt in the rich gloom--her interview
+with the daughter of the house, I say, effectually settled this
+question. Pansy was really a blank page, a pure white surface,
+successfully kept so; she had neither art, nor guile, nor temper, nor
+talent--only two or three small exquisite instincts: for knowing a
+friend, for avoiding a mistake, for taking care of an old toy or a new
+frock. Yet to be so tender was to be touching withal, and she could
+be felt as an easy victim of fate. She would have no will, no power to
+resist, no sense of her own importance; she would easily be mystified,
+easily crushed: her force would be all in knowing when and where to
+cling. She moved about the place with her visitor, who had asked leave
+to walk through the other rooms again, where Pansy gave her judgement on
+several works of art. She spoke of her prospects, her occupations, her
+father's intentions; she was not egotistical, but felt the propriety
+of supplying the information so distinguished a guest would naturally
+expect.
+
+"Please tell me," she said, "did papa, in Rome, go to see Madame
+Catherine? He told me he would if he had time. Perhaps he had not time.
+Papa likes a great deal of time. He wished to speak about my education;
+it isn't finished yet, you know. I don't know what they can do with me
+more; but it appears it's far from finished. Papa told me one day he
+thought he would finish it himself; for the last year or two, at the
+convent, the masters that teach the tall girls are so very dear. Papa's
+not rich, and I should be very sorry if he were to pay much money for
+me, because I don't think I'm worth it. I don't learn quickly enough,
+and I have no memory. For what I'm told, yes--especially when it's
+pleasant; but not for what I learn in a book. There was a young girl who
+was my best friend, and they took her away from the convent, when she
+was fourteen, to make--how do you say it in English?--to make a dot. You
+don't say it in English? I hope it isn't wrong; I only mean they wished
+to keep the money to marry her. I don't know whether it is for that that
+papa wishes to keep the money--to marry me. It costs so much to marry!"
+Pansy went on with a sigh; "I think papa might make that economy. At
+any rate I'm too young to think about it yet, and I don't care for any
+gentleman; I mean for any but him. If he were not my papa I should like
+to marry him; I would rather be his daughter than the wife of--of some
+strange person. I miss him very much, but not so much as you might
+think, for I've been so much away from him. Papa has always been
+principally for holidays. I miss Madame Catherine almost more; but you
+must not tell him that. You shall not see him again? I'm very sorry,
+and he'll be sorry too. Of everyone who comes here I like you the best.
+That's not a great compliment, for there are not many people. It was
+very kind of you to come to-day--so far from your house; for I'm really
+as yet only a child. Oh, yes, I've only the occupations of a child. When
+did YOU give them up, the occupations of a child? I should like to know
+how old you are, but I don't know whether it's right to ask. At the
+convent they told us that we must never ask the age. I don't like to do
+anything that's not expected; it looks as if one had not been properly
+taught. I myself--I should never like to be taken by surprise. Papa left
+directions for everything. I go to bed very early. When the sun goes off
+that side I go into the garden. Papa left strict orders that I was not
+to get scorched. I always enjoy the view; the mountains are so graceful.
+In Rome, from the convent, we saw nothing but roofs and bell-towers. I
+practise three hours. I don't play very well. You play yourself? I wish
+very much you'd play something for me; papa has the idea that I should
+hear good music. Madame Merle has played for me several times; that's
+what I like best about Madame Merle; she has great facility. I shall
+never have facility. And I've no voice--just a small sound like the
+squeak of a slate-pencil making flourishes."
+
+Isabel gratified this respectful wish, drew off her gloves and sat down
+to the piano, while Pansy, standing beside her, watched her white
+hands move quickly over the keys. When she stopped she kissed the child
+good-bye, held her close, looked at her long. "Be very good," she said;
+"give pleasure to your father."
+
+"I think that's what I live for," Pansy answered. "He has not much
+pleasure; he's rather a sad man."
+
+Isabel listened to this assertion with an interest which she felt it
+almost a torment to be obliged to conceal. It was her pride that obliged
+her, and a certain sense of decency; there were still other things in
+her head which she felt a strong impulse, instantly checked, to say
+to Pansy about her father; there were things it would have given her
+pleasure to hear the child, to make the child, say. But she no sooner
+became conscious of these things than her imagination was hushed with
+horror at the idea of taking advantage of the little girl--it was of
+this she would have accused herself--and of exhaling into that air where
+he might still have a subtle sense for it any breath of her charmed
+state. She had come--she had come; but she had stayed only an hour. She
+rose quickly from the music-stool; even then, however, she lingered a
+moment, still holding her small companion, drawing the child's sweet
+slimness closer and looking down at her almost in envy. She was obliged
+to confess it to herself--she would have taken a passionate pleasure in
+talking of Gilbert Osmond to this innocent, diminutive creature who
+was so near him. But she said no other word; she only kissed Pansy once
+again. They went together through the vestibule, to the door that
+opened on the court; and there her young hostess stopped, looking rather
+wistfully beyond. "I may go no further. I've promised papa not to pass
+this door."
+
+"You're right to obey him; he'll never ask you anything unreasonable."
+
+"I shall always obey him. But when will you come again?"
+
+"Not for a long time, I'm afraid."
+
+"As soon as you can, I hope. I'm only a little girl," said Pansy, "but
+I shall always expect you." And the small figure stood in the high, dark
+doorway, watching Isabel cross the clear, grey court and disappear into
+the brightness beyond the big portone, which gave a wider dazzle as it
+opened.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+Isabel came back to Florence, but only after several months; an interval
+sufficiently replete with incident. It is not, however, during this
+interval that we are closely concerned with her; our attention is
+engaged again on a certain day in the late spring-time, shortly after
+her return to Palazzo Crescentini and a year from the date of the
+incidents just narrated. She was alone on this occasion, in one of the
+smaller of the numerous rooms devoted by Mrs. Touchett to social uses,
+and there was that in her expression and attitude which would have
+suggested that she was expecting a visitor. The tall window was open,
+and though its green shutters were partly drawn the bright air of the
+garden had come in through a broad interstice and filled the room with
+warmth and perfume. Our young woman stood near it for some time, her
+hands clasped behind her; she gazed abroad with the vagueness of unrest.
+Too troubled for attention she moved in a vain circle. Yet it could not
+be in her thought to catch a glimpse of her visitor before he should
+pass into the house, since the entrance to the palace was not through
+the garden, in which stillness and privacy always reigned. She wished
+rather to forestall his arrival by a process of conjecture, and to judge
+by the expression of her face this attempt gave her plenty to do. Grave
+she found herself, and positively more weighted, as by the experience of
+the lapse of the year she had spent in seeing the world. She had ranged,
+she would have said, through space and surveyed much of mankind, and
+was therefore now, in her own eyes, a very different person from the
+frivolous young woman from Albany who had begun to take the measure
+of Europe on the lawn at Gardencourt a couple of years before. She
+flattered herself she had harvested wisdom and learned a great deal
+more of life than this light-minded creature had even suspected. If
+her thoughts just now had inclined themselves to retrospect, instead
+of fluttering their wings nervously about the present, they would have
+evoked a multitude of interesting pictures. These pictures would have
+been both landscapes and figure-pieces; the latter, however, would have
+been the more numerous. With several of the images that might have been
+projected on such a field we are already acquainted. There would be for
+instance the conciliatory Lily, our heroine's sister and Edmund Ludlow's
+wife, who had come out from New York to spend five months with her
+relative. She had left her husband behind her, but had brought
+her children, to whom Isabel now played with equal munificence and
+tenderness the part of maiden-aunt. Mr. Ludlow, toward the last, had
+been able to snatch a few weeks from his forensic triumphs and, crossing
+the ocean with extreme rapidity, had spent a month with the two ladies
+in Paris before taking his wife home. The little Ludlows had not yet,
+even from the American point of view, reached the proper tourist-age; so
+that while her sister was with her Isabel had confined her movements to
+a narrow circle. Lily and the babies had joined her in Switzerland in
+the month of July, and they had spent a summer of fine weather in an
+Alpine valley where the flowers were thick in the meadows and the shade
+of great chestnuts made a resting-place for such upward wanderings as
+might be undertaken by ladies and children on warm afternoons. They had
+afterwards reached the French capital, which was worshipped, and with
+costly ceremonies, by Lily, but thought of as noisily vacant by Isabel,
+who in these days made use of her memory of Rome as she might have done,
+in a hot and crowded room, of a phial of something pungent hidden in her
+handkerchief.
+
+Mrs. Ludlow sacrificed, as I say, to Paris, yet had doubts and
+wonderments not allayed at that altar; and after her husband had joined
+her found further chagrin in his failure to throw himself into these
+speculations. They all had Isabel for subject; but Edmund Ludlow, as
+he had always done before, declined to be surprised, or distressed, or
+mystified, or elated, at anything his sister-in-law might have done
+or have failed to do. Mrs. Ludlow's mental motions were sufficiently
+various. At one moment she thought it would be so natural for that young
+woman to come home and take a house in New York--the Rossiters', for
+instance, which had an elegant conservatory and was just round the
+corner from her own; at another she couldn't conceal her surprise at the
+girl's not marrying some member of one of the great aristocracies. On
+the whole, as I have said, she had fallen from high communion with the
+probabilities. She had taken more satisfaction in Isabel's accession of
+fortune than if the money had been left to herself; it had seemed to her
+to offer just the proper setting for her sister's slightly meagre, but
+scarce the less eminent figure. Isabel had developed less, however, than
+Lily had thought likely--development, to Lily's understanding, being
+somehow mysteriously connected with morning-calls and evening-parties.
+Intellectually, doubtless, she had made immense strides; but she
+appeared to have achieved few of those social conquests of which Mrs.
+Ludlow had expected to admire the trophies. Lily's conception of such
+achievements was extremely vague; but this was exactly what she had
+expected of Isabel--to give it form and body. Isabel could have done
+as well as she had done in New York; and Mrs. Ludlow appealed to her
+husband to know whether there was any privilege she enjoyed in Europe
+which the society of that city might not offer her. We know ourselves
+that Isabel had made conquests--whether inferior or not to those she
+might have effected in her native land it would be a delicate matter to
+decide; and it is not altogether with a feeling of complacency that
+I again mention that she had not rendered these honourable victories
+public. She had not told her sister the history of Lord Warburton, nor
+had she given her a hint of Mr. Osmond's state of mind; and she had had
+no better reason for her silence than that she didn't wish to speak.
+It was more romantic to say nothing, and, drinking deep, in secret, of
+romance, she was as little disposed to ask poor Lily's advice as she
+would have been to close that rare volume forever. But Lily knew nothing
+of these discriminations, and could only pronounce her sister's career
+a strange anti-climax--an impression confirmed by the fact that Isabel's
+silence about Mr. Osmond, for instance, was in direct proportion to the
+frequency with which he occupied her thoughts. As this happened very
+often it sometimes appeared to Mrs. Ludlow that she had lost her
+courage. So uncanny a result of so exhilarating an incident as
+inheriting a fortune was of course perplexing to the cheerful Lily; it
+added to her general sense that Isabel was not at all like other people.
+
+Our young lady's courage, however, might have been taken as reaching
+its height after her relations had gone home. She could imagine braver
+things than spending the winter in Paris--Paris had sides by which it
+so resembled New York, Paris was like smart, neat prose--and her close
+correspondence with Madame Merle did much to stimulate such flights. She
+had never had a keener sense of freedom, of the absolute boldness and
+wantonness of liberty, than when she turned away from the platform
+at the Euston Station on one of the last days of November, after the
+departure of the train that was to convey poor Lily, her husband and her
+children to their ship at Liverpool. It had been good for her to regale;
+she was very conscious of that; she was very observant, as we know, of
+what was good for her, and her effort was constantly to find something
+that was good enough. To profit by the present advantage till the latest
+moment she had made the journey from Paris with the unenvied travellers.
+She would have accompanied them to Liverpool as well, only Edmund Ludlow
+had asked her, as a favour, not to do so; it made Lily so fidgety and
+she asked such impossible questions. Isabel watched the train move away;
+she kissed her hand to the elder of her small nephews, a demonstrative
+child who leaned dangerously far out of the window of the carriage and
+made separation an occasion of violent hilarity, and then she walked
+back into the foggy London street. The world lay before her--she could
+do whatever she chose. There was a deep thrill in it all, but for the
+present her choice was tolerably discreet; she chose simply to walk back
+from Euston Square to her hotel. The early dusk of a November afternoon
+had already closed in; the street-lamps, in the thick, brown air, looked
+weak and red; our heroine was unattended and Euston Square was a long
+way from Piccadilly. But Isabel performed the journey with a positive
+enjoyment of its dangers and lost her way almost on purpose, in order
+to get more sensations, so that she was disappointed when an obliging
+policeman easily set her right again. She was so fond of the spectacle
+of human life that she enjoyed even the aspect of gathering dusk in the
+London streets--the moving crowds, the hurrying cabs, the lighted shops,
+the flaring stalls, the dark, shining dampness of everything. That
+evening, at her hotel, she wrote to Madame Merle that she should start
+in a day or two for Rome. She made her way down to Rome without touching
+at Florence--having gone first to Venice and then proceeded southward by
+Ancona. She accomplished this journey without other assistance than that
+of her servant, for her natural protectors were not now on the ground.
+Ralph Touchett was spending the winter at Corfu, and Miss Stackpole, in
+the September previous, had been recalled to America by a telegram from
+the Interviewer. This journal offered its brilliant correspondent a
+fresher field for her genius than the mouldering cities of Europe, and
+Henrietta was cheered on her way by a promise from Mr. Bantling that
+he would soon come over to see her. Isabel wrote to Mrs. Touchett to
+apologise for not presenting herself just yet in Florence, and her aunt
+replied characteristically enough. Apologies, Mrs. Touchett intimated,
+were of no more use to her than bubbles, and she herself never dealt
+in such articles. One either did the thing or one didn't, and what one
+"would" have done belonged to the sphere of the irrelevant, like the
+idea of a future life or of the origin of things. Her letter was frank,
+but (a rare case with Mrs. Touchett) not so frank as it pretended. She
+easily forgave her niece for not stopping at Florence, because she
+took it for a sign that Gilbert Osmond was less in question there than
+formerly. She watched of course to see if he would now find a pretext
+for going to Rome, and derived some comfort from learning that he had
+not been guilty of an absence. Isabel, on her side, had not been a
+fortnight in Rome before she proposed to Madame Merle that they should
+make a little pilgrimage to the East. Madame Merle remarked that her
+friend was restless, but she added that she herself had always been
+consumed with the desire to visit Athens and Constantinople. The two
+ladies accordingly embarked on this expedition, and spent three months
+in Greece, in Turkey, in Egypt. Isabel found much to interest her in
+these countries, though Madame Merle continued to remark that even among
+the most classic sites, the scenes most calculated to suggest repose
+and reflexion, a certain incoherence prevailed in her. Isabel travelled
+rapidly and recklessly; she was like a thirsty person draining cup
+after cup. Madame Merle meanwhile, as lady-in-waiting to a princess
+circulating incognita, panted a little in her rear. It was on Isabel's
+invitation she had come, and she imparted all due dignity to the girl's
+uncountenanced state. She played her part with the tact that might have
+been expected of her, effacing herself and accepting the position of a
+companion whose expenses were profusely paid. The situation, however,
+had no hardships, and people who met this reserved though striking
+pair on their travels would not have been able to tell you which
+was patroness and which client. To say that Madame Merle improved on
+acquaintance states meagrely the impression she made on her friend,
+who had found her from the first so ample and so easy. At the end of an
+intimacy of three months Isabel felt she knew her better; her character
+had revealed itself, and the admirable woman had also at last redeemed
+her promise of relating her history from her own point of view--a
+consummation the more desirable as Isabel had already heard it related
+from the point of view of others. This history was so sad a one (in so
+far as it concerned the late M. Merle, a positive adventurer, she might
+say, though originally so plausible, who had taken advantage, years
+before, of her youth and of an inexperience in which doubtless those who
+knew her only now would find it difficult to believe); it abounded so in
+startling and lamentable incidents that her companion wondered a person
+so eprouvee could have kept so much of her freshness, her interest in
+life. Into this freshness of Madame Merle's she obtained a considerable
+insight; she seemed to see it as professional, as slightly mechanical,
+carried about in its case like the fiddle of the virtuoso, or blanketed
+and bridled like the "favourite" of the jockey. She liked her as much
+as ever, but there was a corner of the curtain that never was lifted;
+it was as if she had remained after all something of a public performer,
+condemned to emerge only in character and in costume. She had once
+said that she came from a distance, that she belonged to the "old, old"
+world, and Isabel never lost the impression that she was the product of
+a different moral or social clime from her own, that she had grown up
+under other stars.
+
+She believed then that at bottom she had a different morality. Of course
+the morality of civilised persons has always much in common; but our
+young woman had a sense in her of values gone wrong or, as they said at
+the shops, marked down. She considered, with the presumption of youth,
+that a morality differing from her own must be inferior to it; and this
+conviction was an aid to detecting an occasional flash of cruelty, an
+occasional lapse from candour, in the conversation of a person who had
+raised delicate kindness to an art and whose pride was too high for
+the narrow ways of deception. Her conception of human motives might,
+in certain lights, have been acquired at the court of some kingdom in
+decadence, and there were several in her list of which our heroine had
+not even heard. She had not heard of everything, that was very plain;
+and there were evidently things in the world of which it was not
+advantageous to hear. She had once or twice had a positive scare; since
+it so affected her to have to exclaim, of her friend, "Heaven forgive
+her, she doesn't understand me!" Absurd as it may seem this discovery
+operated as a shock, left her with a vague dismay in which there was
+even an element of foreboding. The dismay of course subsided, in the
+light of some sudden proof of Madame Merle's remarkable intelligence;
+but it stood for a high-water-mark in the ebb and flow of confidence.
+Madame Merle had once declared her belief that when a friendship ceases
+to grow it immediately begins to decline--there being no point of
+equilibrium between liking more and liking less. A stationary affection,
+in other words, was impossible--it must move one way or the other.
+However that might be, the girl had in these days a thousand uses for
+her sense of the romantic, which was more active than it had ever been.
+I do not allude to the impulse it received as she gazed at the Pyramids
+in the course of an excursion from Cairo, or as she stood among the
+broken columns of the Acropolis and fixed her eyes upon the point
+designated to her as the Strait of Salamis; deep and memorable as these
+emotions had remained. She came back by the last of March from Egypt
+and Greece and made another stay in Rome. A few days after her arrival
+Gilbert Osmond descended from Florence and remained three weeks, during
+which the fact of her being with his old friend Madame Merle, in whose
+house she had gone to lodge, made it virtually inevitable that he
+should see her every day. When the last of April came she wrote to Mrs.
+Touchett that she should now rejoice to accept an invitation given long
+before, and went to pay a visit at Palazzo Crescentini, Madame Merle on
+this occasion remaining in Rome. She found her aunt alone; her cousin
+was still at Corfu. Ralph, however, was expected in Florence from day
+to day, and Isabel, who had not seen him for upwards of a year, was
+prepared to give him the most affectionate welcome.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+It was not of him, nevertheless, that she was thinking while she stood
+at the window near which we found her a while ago, and it was not of any
+of the matters I have rapidly sketched. She was not turned to the past,
+but to the immediate, impending hour. She had reason to expect a scene,
+and she was not fond of scenes. She was not asking herself what she
+should say to her visitor; this question had already been answered. What
+he would say to her--that was the interesting issue. It could be nothing
+in the least soothing--she had warrant for this, and the conviction
+doubtless showed in the cloud on her brow. For the rest, however, all
+clearness reigned in her; she had put away her mourning and she walked
+in no small shimmering splendour. She only, felt older--ever so much,
+and as if she were "worth more" for it, like some curious piece in an
+antiquary's collection. She was not at any rate left indefinitely to her
+apprehensions, for a servant at last stood before her with a card on his
+tray. "Let the gentleman come in," she said, and continued to gaze out
+of the window after the footman had retired. It was only when she had
+heard the door close behind the person who presently entered that she
+looked round.
+
+Caspar Goodwood stood there--stood and received a moment, from head to
+foot, the bright, dry gaze with which she rather withheld than offered
+a greeting. Whether his sense of maturity had kept pace with Isabel's
+we shall perhaps presently ascertain; let me say meanwhile that to
+her critical glance he showed nothing of the injury of time. Straight,
+strong and hard, there was nothing in his appearance that spoke
+positively either of youth or of age; if he had neither innocence nor
+weakness, so he had no practical philosophy. His jaw showed the same
+voluntary cast as in earlier days; but a crisis like the present had in
+it of course something grim. He had the air of a man who had travelled
+hard; he said nothing at first, as if he had been out of breath. This
+gave Isabel time to make a reflexion: "Poor fellow, what great things
+he's capable of, and what a pity he should waste so dreadfully his
+splendid force! What a pity too that one can't satisfy everybody!" It
+gave her time to do more to say at the end of a minute: "I can't tell
+you how I hoped you wouldn't come!"
+
+"I've no doubt of that." And he looked about him for a seat. Not only
+had he come, but he meant to settle.
+
+"You must be very tired," said Isabel, seating herself, and generously,
+as she thought, to give him his opportunity.
+
+"No, I'm not at all tired. Did you ever know me to be tired?"
+
+"Never; I wish I had! When did you arrive?"
+
+"Last night, very late; in a kind of snail-train they call the express.
+These Italian trains go at about the rate of an American funeral."
+
+"That's in keeping--you must have felt as if you were coming to bury
+me!" And she forced a smile of encouragement to an easy view of their
+situation. She had reasoned the matter well out, making it perfectly
+clear that she broke no faith and falsified no contract; but for all
+this she was afraid of her visitor. She was ashamed of her fear; but she
+was devoutly thankful there was nothing else to be ashamed of. He looked
+at her with his stiff insistence, an insistence in which there was such
+a want of tact; especially when the dull dark beam in his eye rested on
+her as a physical weight.
+
+"No, I didn't feel that; I couldn't think of you as dead. I wish I
+could!" he candidly declared.
+
+"I thank you immensely."
+
+"I'd rather think of you as dead than as married to another man."
+
+"That's very selfish of you!" she returned with the ardour of a real
+conviction. "If you're not happy yourself others have yet a right to
+be."
+
+"Very likely it's selfish; but I don't in the least mind your saying so.
+I don't mind anything you can say now--I don't feel it. The cruellest
+things you could think of would be mere pin-pricks. After what you've
+done I shall never feel anything--I mean anything but that. That I shall
+feel all my life."
+
+Mr. Goodwood made these detached assertions with dry deliberateness,
+in his hard, slow American tone, which flung no atmospheric colour over
+propositions intrinsically crude. The tone made Isabel angry rather than
+touched her; but her anger perhaps was fortunate, inasmuch as it gave
+her a further reason for controlling herself. It was under the pressure
+of this control that she became, after a little, irrelevant. "When did
+you leave New York?"
+
+He threw up his head as if calculating. "Seventeen days ago."
+
+"You must have travelled fast in spite of your slow trains."
+
+"I came as fast as I could. I'd have come five days ago if I had been
+able."
+
+"It wouldn't have made any difference, Mr. Goodwood," she coldly smiled.
+
+"Not to you--no. But to me."
+
+"You gain nothing that I see."
+
+"That's for me to judge!"
+
+"Of course. To me it seems that you only torment yourself." And then, to
+change the subject, she asked him if he had seen Henrietta Stackpole.
+He looked as if he had not come from Boston to Florence to talk of
+Henrietta Stackpole; but he answered, distinctly enough, that this young
+lady had been with him just before he left America. "She came to see
+you?" Isabel then demanded.
+
+"Yes, she was in Boston, and she called at my office. It was the day I
+had got your letter."
+
+"Did you tell her?" Isabel asked with a certain anxiety.
+
+"Oh no," said Caspar Goodwood simply; "I didn't want to do that. She'll
+hear it quick enough; she hears everything."
+
+"I shall write to her, and then she'll write to me and scold me," Isabel
+declared, trying to smile again.
+
+Caspar, however, remained sternly grave. "I guess she'll come right
+out," he said.
+
+"On purpose to scold me?"
+
+"I don't know. She seemed to think she had not seen Europe thoroughly."
+
+"I'm glad you tell me that," Isabel said. "I must prepare for her."
+
+Mr. Goodwood fixed his eyes for a moment on the floor; then at last,
+raising them, "Does she know Mr. Osmond?" he enquired.
+
+"A little. And she doesn't like him. But of course I don't marry to
+please Henrietta," she added. It would have been better for poor Caspar
+if she had tried a little more to gratify Miss Stackpole; but he didn't
+say so; he only asked, presently, when her marriage would take place. To
+which she made answer that she didn't know yet. "I can only say it will
+be soon. I've told no one but yourself and one other person--an old
+friend of Mr. Osmond's."
+
+"Is it a marriage your friends won't like?" he demanded.
+
+"I really haven't an idea. As I say, I don't marry for my friends."
+
+He went on, making no exclamation, no comment, only asking questions,
+doing it quite without delicacy. "Who and what then is Mr. Gilbert
+Osmond?"
+
+"Who and what? Nobody and nothing but a very good and very honourable
+man. He's not in business," said Isabel. "He's not rich; he's not known
+for anything in particular."
+
+She disliked Mr. Goodwood's questions, but she said to herself that she
+owed it to him to satisfy him as far as possible. The satisfaction poor
+Caspar exhibited was, however, small; he sat very upright, gazing at
+her. "Where does he come from? Where does he belong?"
+
+She had never been so little pleased with the way he said "belawng." "He
+comes from nowhere. He has spent most of his life in Italy."
+
+"You said in your letter he was American. Hasn't he a native place?"
+
+"Yes, but he has forgotten it. He left it as a small boy."
+
+"Has he never gone back?"
+
+"Why should he go back?" Isabel asked, flushing all defensively. "He has
+no profession."
+
+"He might have gone back for his pleasure. Doesn't he like the United
+States?"
+
+"He doesn't know them. Then he's very quiet and very simple--he contents
+himself with Italy."
+
+"With Italy and with you," said Mr. Goodwood with gloomy plainness and
+no appearance of trying to make an epigram. "What has he ever done?" he
+added abruptly.
+
+"That I should marry him? Nothing at all," Isabel replied while her
+patience helped itself by turning a little to hardness. "If he had done
+great things would you forgive me any better? Give me up, Mr. Goodwood;
+I'm marrying a perfect nonentity. Don't try to take an interest in him.
+You can't."
+
+"I can't appreciate him; that's what you mean. And you don't mean in
+the least that he's a perfect nonentity. You think he's grand, you think
+he's great, though no one else thinks so."
+
+Isabel's colour deepened; she felt this really acute of her companion,
+and it was certainly a proof of the aid that passion might render
+perceptions she had never taken for fine. "Why do you always come back
+to what others think? I can't discuss Mr. Osmond with you."
+
+"Of course not," said Caspar reasonably. And he sat there with his air
+of stiff helplessness, as if not only this were true, but there were
+nothing else that they might discuss.
+
+"You see how little you gain," she accordingly broke out--"how little
+comfort or satisfaction I can give you."
+
+"I didn't expect you to give me much."
+
+"I don't understand then why you came."
+
+"I came because I wanted to see you once more--even just as you are."
+
+"I appreciate that; but if you had waited a while, sooner or later
+we should have been sure to meet, and our meeting would have been
+pleasanter for each of us than this."
+
+"Waited till after you're married? That's just what I didn't want to do.
+You'll be different then."
+
+"Not very. I shall still be a great friend of yours. You'll see."
+
+"That will make it all the worse," said Mr. Goodwood grimly.
+
+"Ah, you're unaccommodating! I can't promise to dislike you in order to
+help you to resign yourself."
+
+"I shouldn't care if you did!"
+
+Isabel got up with a movement of repressed impatience and walked to the
+window, where she remained a moment looking out. When she turned round
+her visitor was still motionless in his place. She came toward him again
+and stopped, resting her hand on the back of the chair she had just
+quitted. "Do you mean you came simply to look at me? That's better for
+you perhaps than for me."
+
+"I wished to hear the sound of your voice," he said.
+
+"You've heard it, and you see it says nothing very sweet."
+
+"It gives me pleasure, all the same." And with this he got up. She had
+felt pain and displeasure on receiving early that day the news he was in
+Florence and by her leave would come within an hour to see her. She
+had been vexed and distressed, though she had sent back word by his
+messenger that he might come when he would. She had not been better
+pleased when she saw him; his being there at all was so full of heavy
+implications. It implied things she could never assent to--rights,
+reproaches, remonstrance, rebuke, the expectation of making her change
+her purpose. These things, however, if implied, had not been expressed;
+and now our young lady, strangely enough, began to resent her visitor's
+remarkable self-control. There was a dumb misery about him that
+irritated her; there was a manly staying of his hand that made her heart
+beat faster. She felt her agitation rising, and she said to herself
+that she was angry in the way a woman is angry when she has been in the
+wrong. She was not in the wrong; she had fortunately not that bitterness
+to swallow; but, all the same, she wished he would denounce her a
+little. She had wished his visit would be short; it had no purpose, no
+propriety; yet now that he seemed to be turning away she felt a sudden
+horror of his leaving her without uttering a word that would give her an
+opportunity to defend herself more than she had done in writing to him
+a month before, in a few carefully chosen words, to announce her
+engagement. If she were not in the wrong, however, why should she desire
+to defend herself? It was an excess of generosity on Isabel's part to
+desire that Mr. Goodwood should be angry. And if he had not meanwhile
+held himself hard it might have made him so to hear the tone in which
+she suddenly exclaimed, as if she were accusing him of having accused
+her: "I've not deceived you! I was perfectly free!"
+
+"Yes, I know that," said Caspar.
+
+"I gave you full warning that I'd do as I chose."
+
+"You said you'd probably never marry, and you said it with such a manner
+that I pretty well believed it."
+
+She considered this an instant. "No one can be more surprised than
+myself at my present intention."
+
+"You told me that if I heard you were engaged I was not to believe
+it," Caspar went on. "I heard it twenty days ago from yourself, but I
+remembered what you had said. I thought there might be some mistake, and
+that's partly why I came."
+
+"If you wish me to repeat it by word of mouth, that's soon done. There's
+no mistake whatever."
+
+"I saw that as soon as I came into the room."
+
+"What good would it do you that I shouldn't marry?" she asked with a
+certain fierceness.
+
+"I should like it better than this."
+
+"You're very selfish, as I said before."
+
+"I know that. I'm selfish as iron."
+
+"Even iron sometimes melts! If you'll be reasonable I'll see you again."
+
+"Don't you call me reasonable now?"
+
+"I don't know what to say to you," she answered with sudden humility.
+
+"I shan't trouble you for a long time," the young man went on. He made
+a step towards the door, but he stopped. "Another reason why I came was
+that I wanted to hear what you would say in explanation of your having
+changed your mind."
+
+Her humbleness as suddenly deserted her. "In explanation? Do you think
+I'm bound to explain?"
+
+He gave her one of his long dumb looks. "You were very positive. I did
+believe it."
+
+"So did I. Do you think I could explain if I would?"
+
+"No, I suppose not. Well," he added, "I've done what I wished. I've seen
+you."
+
+"How little you make of these terrible journeys," she felt the poverty
+of her presently replying.
+
+"If you're afraid I'm knocked up--in any such way as that--you may be
+at your ease about it." He turned away, this time in earnest, and no
+hand-shake, no sign of parting, was exchanged between them.
+
+At the door he stopped with his hand on the knob. "I shall leave
+Florence to-morrow," he said without a quaver.
+
+"I'm delighted to hear it!" she answered passionately. Five minutes
+after he had gone out she burst into tears.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+Her fit of weeping, however, was soon smothered, and the signs of it had
+vanished when, an hour later, she broke the news to her aunt. I use this
+expression because she had been sure Mrs. Touchett would not be pleased;
+Isabel had only waited to tell her till she had seen Mr. Goodwood. She
+had an odd impression that it would not be honourable to make the fact
+public before she should have heard what Mr. Goodwood would say about
+it. He had said rather less than she expected, and she now had a
+somewhat angry sense of having lost time. But she would lose no more;
+she waited till Mrs. Touchett came into the drawing-room before the
+mid-day breakfast, and then she began. "Aunt Lydia, I've something to
+tell you."
+
+Mrs. Touchett gave a little jump and looked at her almost fiercely. "You
+needn't tell me; I know what it is."
+
+"I don't know how you know."
+
+"The same way that I know when the window's open--by feeling a draught.
+You're going to marry that man."
+
+"What man do you mean?" Isabel enquired with great dignity.
+
+"Madame Merle's friend--Mr. Osmond."
+
+"I don't know why you call him Madame Merle's friend. Is that the
+principal thing he's known by?"
+
+"If he's not her friend he ought to be--after what she has done for
+him!" cried Mrs. Touchett. "I shouldn't have expected it of her; I'm
+disappointed."
+
+"If you mean that Madame Merle has had anything to do with my engagement
+you're greatly mistaken," Isabel declared with a sort of ardent
+coldness.
+
+"You mean that your attractions were sufficient, without the gentleman's
+having had to be lashed up? You're quite right. They're immense, your
+attractions, and he would never have presumed to think of you if she
+hadn't put him up to it. He has a very good opinion of himself, but he
+was not a man to take trouble. Madame Merle took the trouble for him."
+
+"He has taken a great deal for himself!" cried Isabel with a voluntary
+laugh.
+
+Mrs. Touchett gave a sharp nod. "I think he must, after all, to have
+made you like him so much."
+
+"I thought he even pleased YOU."
+
+"He did, at one time; and that's why I'm angry with him."
+
+"Be angry with me, not with him," said the girl.
+
+"Oh, I'm always angry with you; that's no satisfaction! Was it for this
+that you refused Lord Warburton?"
+
+"Please don't go back to that. Why shouldn't I like Mr. Osmond, since
+others have done so?"
+
+"Others, at their wildest moments, never wanted to marry him. There's
+nothing OF him," Mrs. Touchett explained.
+
+"Then he can't hurt me," said Isabel.
+
+"Do you think you're going to be happy? No one's happy, in such doings,
+you should know."
+
+"I shall set the fashion then. What does one marry for?"
+
+"What YOU will marry for, heaven only knows. People usually marry as
+they go into partnership--to set up a house. But in your partnership
+you'll bring everything."
+
+"Is it that Mr. Osmond isn't rich? Is that what you're talking about?"
+Isabel asked.
+
+"He has no money; he has no name; he has no importance. I value such
+things and I have the courage to say it; I think they're very precious.
+Many other people think the same, and they show it. But they give some
+other reason."
+
+Isabel hesitated a little. "I think I value everything that's valuable.
+I care very much for money, and that's why I wish Mr. Osmond to have a
+little."
+
+"Give it to him then; but marry some one else."
+
+"His name's good enough for me," the girl went on. "It's a very pretty
+name. Have I such a fine one myself?"
+
+"All the more reason you should improve on it. There are only a dozen
+American names. Do you marry him out of charity?"
+
+"It was my duty to tell you, Aunt Lydia, but I don't think it's my duty
+to explain to you. Even if it were I shouldn't be able. So please don't
+remonstrate; in talking about it you have me at a disadvantage. I can't
+talk about it."
+
+"I don't remonstrate, I simply answer you: I must give some sign of
+intelligence. I saw it coming, and I said nothing. I never meddle."
+
+"You never do, and I'm greatly obliged to you. You've been very
+considerate."
+
+"It was not considerate--it was convenient," said Mrs. Touchett. "But I
+shall talk to Madame Merle."
+
+"I don't see why you keep bringing her in. She has been a very good
+friend to me."
+
+"Possibly; but she has been a poor one to me."
+
+"What has she done to you?"
+
+"She has deceived me. She had as good as promised me to prevent your
+engagement."
+
+"She couldn't have prevented it."
+
+"She can do anything; that's what I've always liked her for. I knew she
+could play any part; but I understood that she played them one by one. I
+didn't understand that she would play two at the same time."
+
+"I don't know what part she may have played to you," Isabel said;
+"that's between yourselves. To me she has been honest and kind and
+devoted."
+
+"Devoted, of course; she wished you to marry her candidate. She told me
+she was watching you only in order to interpose."
+
+"She said that to please you," the girl answered; conscious, however, of
+the inadequacy of the explanation.
+
+"To please me by deceiving me? She knows me better. Am I pleased
+to-day?"
+
+"I don't think you're ever much pleased," Isabel was obliged to reply.
+"If Madame Merle knew you would learn the truth what had she to gain by
+insincerity?"
+
+"She gained time, as you see. While I waited for her to interfere you
+were marching away, and she was really beating the drum."
+
+"That's very well. But by your own admission you saw I was marching, and
+even if she had given the alarm you wouldn't have tried to stop me."
+
+"No, but some one else would."
+
+"Whom do you mean?" Isabel asked, looking very hard at her aunt. Mrs.
+Touchett's little bright eyes, active as they usually were, sustained
+her gaze rather than returned it. "Would you have listened to Ralph?"
+
+"Not if he had abused Mr. Osmond."
+
+"Ralph doesn't abuse people; you know that perfectly. He cares very much
+for you."
+
+"I know he does," said Isabel; "and I shall feel the value of it now,
+for he knows that whatever I do I do with reason."
+
+"He never believed you would do this. I told him you were capable of it,
+and he argued the other way."
+
+"He did it for the sake of argument," the girl smiled. "You don't accuse
+him of having deceived you; why should you accuse Madame Merle?"
+
+"He never pretended he'd prevent it."
+
+"I'm glad of that!" cried Isabel gaily. "I wish very much," she
+presently added, "that when he comes you'd tell him first of my
+engagement."
+
+"Of course I'll mention it," said Mrs. Touchett. "I shall say nothing
+more to you about it, but I give you notice I shall talk to others."
+
+"That's as you please. I only meant that it's rather better the
+announcement should come from you than from me."
+
+"I quite agree with you; it's much more proper!" And on this the aunt
+and the niece went to breakfast, where Mrs. Touchett, as good as her
+word, made no allusion to Gilbert Osmond. After an interval of silence,
+however, she asked her companion from whom she had received a visit an
+hour before.
+
+"From an old friend--an American gentleman," Isabel said with a colour
+in her cheek.
+
+"An American gentleman of course. It's only an American gentleman who
+calls at ten o'clock in the morning."
+
+"It was half-past ten; he was in a great hurry; he goes away this
+evening."
+
+"Couldn't he have come yesterday, at the usual time?"
+
+"He only arrived last night."
+
+"He spends but twenty-four hours in Florence?" Mrs. Touchett cried.
+"He's an American gentleman truly."
+
+"He is indeed," said Isabel, thinking with perverse admiration of what
+Caspar Goodwood had done for her.
+
+Two days afterward Ralph arrived; but though Isabel was sure that Mrs.
+Touchett had lost no time in imparting to him the great fact, he showed
+at first no open knowledge of it. Their prompted talk was naturally of
+his health; Isabel had many questions to ask about Corfu. She had been
+shocked by his appearance when he came into the room; she had forgotten
+how ill he looked. In spite of Corfu he looked very ill to-day, and she
+wondered if he were really worse or if she were simply disaccustomed
+to living with an invalid. Poor Ralph made no nearer approach to
+conventional beauty as he advanced in life, and the now apparently
+complete loss of his health had done little to mitigate the natural
+oddity of his person. Blighted and battered, but still responsive and
+still ironic, his face was like a lighted lantern patched with paper
+and unsteadily held; his thin whisker languished upon a lean cheek; the
+exorbitant curve of his nose defined itself more sharply. Lean he was
+altogether, lean and long and loose-jointed; an accidental cohesion of
+relaxed angles. His brown velvet jacket had become perennial; his
+hands had fixed themselves in his pockets; he shambled and stumbled and
+shuffled in a manner that denoted great physical helplessness. It was
+perhaps this whimsical gait that helped to mark his character more than
+ever as that of the humorous invalid--the invalid for whom even his own
+disabilities are part of the general joke. They might well indeed with
+Ralph have been the chief cause of the want of seriousness marking his
+view of a world in which the reason for his own continued presence was
+past finding out. Isabel had grown fond of his ugliness; his awkwardness
+had become dear to her. They had been sweetened by association; they
+struck her as the very terms on which it had been given him to be
+charming. He was so charming that her sense of his being ill had
+hitherto had a sort of comfort in it; the state of his health had seemed
+not a limitation, but a kind of intellectual advantage; it absolved him
+from all professional and official emotions and left him the luxury of
+being exclusively personal. The personality so resulting was delightful;
+he had remained proof against the staleness of disease; he had had to
+consent to be deplorably ill, yet had somehow escaped being formally
+sick. Such had been the girl's impression of her cousin; and when she
+had pitied him it was only on reflection. As she reflected a good deal
+she had allowed him a certain amount of compassion; but she always had
+a dread of wasting that essence--a precious article, worth more to the
+giver than to any one else. Now, however, it took no great sensibility
+to feel that poor Ralph's tenure of life was less elastic than it should
+be. He was a bright, free, generous spirit, he had all the illumination
+of wisdom and none of its pedantry, and yet he was distressfully dying.
+
+Isabel noted afresh that life was certainly hard for some people,
+and she felt a delicate glow of shame as she thought how easy it now
+promised to become for herself. She was prepared to learn that Ralph was
+not pleased with her engagement; but she was not prepared, in spite of
+her affection for him, to let this fact spoil the situation. She was not
+even prepared, or so she thought, to resent his want of sympathy; for
+it would be his privilege--it would be indeed his natural line--to find
+fault with any step she might take toward marriage. One's cousin always
+pretended to hate one's husband; that was traditional, classical; it
+was a part of one's cousin's always pretending to adore one. Ralph was
+nothing if not critical; and though she would certainly, other things
+being equal, have been as glad to marry to please him as to please any
+one, it would be absurd to regard as important that her choice should
+square with his views. What were his views after all? He had pretended
+to believe she had better have married Lord Warburton; but this was
+only because she had refused that excellent man. If she had accepted
+him Ralph would certainly have taken another tone; he always took the
+opposite. You could criticise any marriage; it was the essence of a
+marriage to be open to criticism. How well she herself, should she only
+give her mind to it, might criticise this union of her own! She had
+other employment, however, and Ralph was welcome to relieve her of the
+care. Isabel was prepared to be most patient and most indulgent. He must
+have seen that, and this made it the more odd he should say nothing.
+After three days had elapsed without his speaking our young woman
+wearied of waiting; dislike it as he would, he might at least go through
+the form. We, who know more about poor Ralph than his cousin, may easily
+believe that during the hours that followed his arrival at Palazzo
+Crescentini he had privately gone through many forms. His mother had
+literally greeted him with the great news, which had been even more
+sensibly chilling than Mrs. Touchett's maternal kiss. Ralph was shocked
+and humiliated; his calculations had been false and the person in the
+world in whom he was most interested was lost. He drifted about the
+house like a rudderless vessel in a rocky stream, or sat in the garden
+of the palace on a great cane chair, his long legs extended, his head
+thrown back and his hat pulled over his eyes. He felt cold about the
+heart; he had never liked anything less. What could he do, what could
+he say? If the girl were irreclaimable could he pretend to like it?
+To attempt to reclaim her was permissible only if the attempt should
+succeed. To try to persuade her of anything sordid or sinister in the
+man to whose deep art she had succumbed would be decently discreet only
+in the event of her being persuaded. Otherwise he should simply have
+damned himself. It cost him an equal effort to speak his thought and to
+dissemble; he could neither assent with sincerity nor protest with hope.
+Meanwhile he knew--or rather he supposed--that the affianced pair were
+daily renewing their mutual vows. Osmond at this moment showed himself
+little at Palazzo Crescentini; but Isabel met him every day elsewhere,
+as she was free to do after their engagement had been made public. She
+had taken a carriage by the month, so as not to be indebted to her aunt
+for the means of pursuing a course of which Mrs. Touchett disapproved,
+and she drove in the morning to the Cascine. This suburban wilderness,
+during the early hours, was void of all intruders, and our young lady,
+joined by her lover in its quietest part, strolled with him a while
+through the grey Italian shade and listened to the nightingales.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+One morning, on her return from her drive, some half-hour before
+luncheon, she quitted her vehicle in the court of the palace and,
+instead of ascending the great staircase, crossed the court, passed
+beneath another archway and entered the garden. A sweeter spot at this
+moment could not have been imagined. The stillness of noontide hung over
+it, and the warm shade, enclosed and still, made bowers like spacious
+caves. Ralph was sitting there in the clear gloom, at the base of a
+statue of Terpsichore--a dancing nymph with taper fingers and inflated
+draperies in the manner of Bernini; the extreme relaxation of his
+attitude suggested at first to Isabel that he was asleep. Her light
+footstep on the grass had not roused him, and before turning away she
+stood for a moment looking at him. During this instant he opened his
+eyes; upon which she sat down on a rustic chair that matched with his
+own. Though in her irritation she had accused him of indifference she
+was not blind to the fact that he had visibly had something to brood
+over. But she had explained his air of absence partly by the languor of
+his increased weakness, partly by worries connected with the property
+inherited from his father--the fruit of eccentric arrangements of
+which Mrs. Touchett disapproved and which, as she had told Isabel, now
+encountered opposition from the other partners in the bank. He ought to
+have gone to England, his mother said, instead of coming to Florence;
+he had not been there for months, and took no more interest in the bank
+than in the state of Patagonia.
+
+"I'm sorry I waked you," Isabel said; "you look too tired."
+
+"I feel too tired. But I was not asleep. I was thinking of you."
+
+"Are you tired of that?"
+
+"Very much so. It leads to nothing. The road's long and I never arrive."
+
+"What do you wish to arrive at?" she put to him, closing her parasol.
+
+"At the point of expressing to myself properly what I think of your
+engagement."
+
+"Don't think too much of it," she lightly returned.
+
+"Do you mean that it's none of my business?"
+
+"Beyond a certain point, yes."
+
+"That's the point I want to fix. I had an idea you may have found me
+wanting in good manners. I've never congratulated you."
+
+"Of course I've noticed that. I wondered why you were silent."
+
+"There have been a good many reasons. I'll tell you now," Ralph said.
+He pulled off his hat and laid it on the ground; then he sat looking at
+her. He leaned back under the protection of Bernini, his head against
+his marble pedestal, his arms dropped on either side of him, his hands
+laid upon the rests of his wide chair. He looked awkward, uncomfortable;
+he hesitated long. Isabel said nothing; when people were embarrassed she
+was usually sorry for them, but she was determined not to help Ralph to
+utter a word that should not be to the honour of her high decision. "I
+think I've hardly got over my surprise," he went on at last. "You were
+the last person I expected to see caught."
+
+"I don't know why you call it caught."
+
+"Because you're going to be put into a cage."
+
+"If I like my cage, that needn't trouble you," she answered.
+
+"That's what I wonder at; that's what I've been thinking of."
+
+"If you've been thinking you may imagine how I've thought! I'm satisfied
+that I'm doing well."
+
+"You must have changed immensely. A year ago you valued your liberty
+beyond everything. You wanted only to see life."
+
+"I've seen it," said Isabel. "It doesn't look to me now, I admit, such
+an inviting expanse."
+
+"I don't pretend it is; only I had an idea that you took a genial view
+of it and wanted to survey the whole field."
+
+"I've seen that one can't do anything so general. One must choose a
+corner and cultivate that."
+
+"That's what I think. And one must choose as good a corner as possible.
+I had no idea, all winter, while I read your delightful letters, that
+you were choosing. You said nothing about it, and your silence put me
+off my guard."
+
+"It was not a matter I was likely to write to you about. Besides, I knew
+nothing of the future. It has all come lately. If you had been on your
+guard, however," Isabel asked, "what would you have done?"
+
+"I should have said 'Wait a little longer.'"
+
+"Wait for what?"
+
+"Well, for a little more light," said Ralph with rather an absurd smile,
+while his hands found their way into his pockets.
+
+"Where should my light have come from? From you?"
+
+"I might have struck a spark or two."
+
+Isabel had drawn off her gloves; she smoothed them out as they lay
+upon her knee. The mildness of this movement was accidental, for her
+expression was not conciliatory. "You're beating about the bush, Ralph.
+You wish to say you don't like Mr. Osmond, and yet you're afraid."
+
+"Willing to wound and yet afraid to strike? I'm willing to wound HIM,
+yes--but not to wound you. I'm afraid of you, not of him. If you marry
+him it won't be a fortunate way for me to have spoken."
+
+"IF I marry him! Have you had any expectation of dissuading me?"
+
+"Of course that seems to you too fatuous."
+
+"No," said Isabel after a little; "it seems to me too touching."
+
+"That's the same thing. It makes me so ridiculous that you pity me."
+
+She stroked out her long gloves again. "I know you've a great affection
+for me. I can't get rid of that."
+
+"For heaven's sake don't try. Keep that well in sight. It will convince
+you how intensely I want you to do well."
+
+"And how little you trust me!"
+
+There was a moment's silence; the warm noontide seemed to listen. "I
+trust you, but I don't trust him," said Ralph.
+
+She raised her eyes and gave him a wide, deep look. "You've said it now,
+and I'm glad you've made it so clear. But you'll suffer by it."
+
+"Not if you're just."
+
+"I'm very just," said Isabel. "What better proof of it can there be than
+that I'm not angry with you? I don't know what's the matter with me, but
+I'm not. I was when you began, but it has passed away. Perhaps I ought
+to be angry, but Mr. Osmond wouldn't think so. He wants me to know
+everything; that's what I like him for. You've nothing to gain, I know
+that. I've never been so nice to you, as a girl, that you should have
+much reason for wishing me to remain one. You give very good advice;
+you've often done so. No, I'm very quiet; I've always believed in your
+wisdom," she went on, boasting of her quietness, yet speaking with a
+kind of contained exaltation. It was her passionate desire to be
+just; it touched Ralph to the heart, affected him like a caress from a
+creature he had injured. He wished to interrupt, to reassure her; for a
+moment he was absurdly inconsistent; he would have retracted what he had
+said. But she gave him no chance; she went on, having caught a glimpse,
+as she thought, of the heroic line and desiring to advance in that
+direction. "I see you've some special idea; I should like very much to
+hear it. I'm sure it's disinterested; I feel that. It seems a strange
+thing to argue about, and of course I ought to tell you definitely that
+if you expect to dissuade me you may give it up. You'll not move me
+an inch; it's too late. As you say, I'm caught. Certainly it won't be
+pleasant for you to remember this, but your pain will be in your own
+thoughts. I shall never reproach you."
+
+"I don't think you ever will," said Ralph. "It's not in the least the
+sort of marriage I thought you'd make."
+
+"What sort of marriage was that, pray?"
+
+"Well, I can hardly say. I hadn't exactly a positive view of it, but I
+had a negative. I didn't think you'd decide for--well, for that type."
+
+"What's the matter with Mr. Osmond's type, if it be one? His being
+so independent, so individual, is what I most see in him," the girl
+declared. "What do you know against him? You know him scarcely at all."
+
+"Yes," Ralph said, "I know him very little, and I confess I haven't
+facts and items to prove him a villain. But all the same I can't help
+feeling that you're running a grave risk."
+
+"Marriage is always a grave risk, and his risk's as grave as mine."
+
+"That's his affair! If he's afraid, let him back out. I wish to God he
+would."
+
+Isabel reclined in her chair, folding her arms and gazing a while at her
+cousin. "I don't think I understand you," she said at last coldly. "I
+don't know what you're talking about."
+
+"I believed you'd marry a man of more importance."
+
+Cold, I say, her tone had been, but at this a colour like a flame leaped
+into her face. "Of more importance to whom? It seems to me enough that
+one's husband should be of importance to one's self!"
+
+Ralph blushed as well; his attitude embarrassed him. Physically speaking
+he proceeded to change it; he straightened himself, then leaned forward,
+resting a hand on each knee. He fixed his eyes on the ground; he had an
+air of the most respectful deliberation.
+
+"I'll tell you in a moment what I mean," he presently said. He felt
+agitated, intensely eager; now that he had opened the discussion he
+wished to discharge his mind. But he wished also to be superlatively
+gentle.
+
+Isabel waited a little--then she went on with majesty. "In everything
+that makes one care for people Mr. Osmond is pre-eminent. There may
+be nobler natures, but I've never had the pleasure of meeting one. Mr.
+Osmond's is the finest I know; he's good enough for me, and interesting
+enough, and clever enough. I'm far more struck with what he has and what
+he represents than with what he may lack."
+
+"I had treated myself to a charming vision of your future," Ralph
+observed without answering this; "I had amused myself with planning out
+a high destiny for you. There was to be nothing of this sort in it. You
+were not to come down so easily or so soon."
+
+"Come down, you say?"
+
+"Well, that renders my sense of what has happened to you. You seemed to
+me to be soaring far up in the blue--to be, sailing in the bright light,
+over the heads of men. Suddenly some one tosses up a faded rosebud--a
+missile that should never have reached you--and straight you drop to
+the ground. It hurts me," said Ralph audaciously, "hurts me as if I had
+fallen myself!"
+
+The look of pain and bewilderment deepened in his companion's face. "I
+don't understand you in the least," she repeated. "You say you amused
+yourself with a project for my career--I don't understand that.
+Don't amuse yourself too much, or I shall think you're doing it at my
+expense."
+
+Ralph shook his head. "I'm not afraid of your not believing that I've
+had great ideas for you."
+
+"What do you mean by my soaring and sailing?" she pursued.
+
+"I've never moved on a higher plane than I'm moving on now. There's
+nothing higher for a girl than to marry a--a person she likes," said
+poor Isabel, wandering into the didactic.
+
+"It's your liking the person we speak of that I venture to criticise, my
+dear cousin. I should have said that the man for you would have been a
+more active, larger, freer sort of nature." Ralph hesitated, then added:
+"I can't get over the sense that Osmond is somehow--well, small." He had
+uttered the last word with no great assurance; he was afraid she would
+flash out again. But to his surprise she was quiet; she had the air of
+considering.
+
+"Small?" She made it sound immense.
+
+"I think he's narrow, selfish. He takes himself so seriously!"
+
+"He has a great respect for himself; I don't blame him for that," said
+Isabel. "It makes one more sure to respect others."
+
+Ralph for a moment felt almost reassured by her reasonable tone.
+
+"Yes, but everything is relative; one ought to feel one's relation to
+things--to others. I don't think Mr. Osmond does that."
+
+"I've chiefly to do with his relation to me. In that he's excellent."
+
+"He's the incarnation of taste," Ralph went on, thinking hard how he
+could best express Gilbert Osmond's sinister attributes without putting
+himself in the wrong by seeming to describe him coarsely. He wished
+to describe him impersonally, scientifically. "He judges and measures,
+approves and condemns, altogether by that."
+
+"It's a happy thing then that his taste should be exquisite."
+
+"It's exquisite, indeed, since it has led him to select you as
+his bride. But have you ever seen such a taste--a really exquisite
+one--ruffled?"
+
+"I hope it may never be my fortune to fail to gratify my husband's."
+
+At these words a sudden passion leaped to Ralph's lips. "Ah, that's
+wilful, that's unworthy of you! You were not meant to be measured in
+that way--you were meant for something better than to keep guard over
+the sensibilities of a sterile dilettante!"
+
+Isabel rose quickly and he did the same, so that they stood for a moment
+looking at each other as if he had flung down a defiance or an insult.
+But "You go too far," she simply breathed.
+
+"I've said what I had on my mind--and I've said it because I love you!"
+
+Isabel turned pale: was he too on that tiresome list? She had a sudden
+wish to strike him off. "Ah then, you're not disinterested!"
+
+"I love you, but I love without hope," said Ralph quickly, forcing a
+smile and feeling that in that last declaration he had expressed more
+than he intended.
+
+Isabel moved away and stood looking into the sunny stillness of the
+garden; but after a little she turned back to him. "I'm afraid your talk
+then is the wildness of despair! I don't understand it--but it doesn't
+matter. I'm not arguing with you; it's impossible I should; I've only
+tried to listen to you. I'm much obliged to you for attempting to
+explain," she said gently, as if the anger with which she had just
+sprung up had already subsided. "It's very good of you to try to warn
+me, if you're really alarmed; but I won't promise to think of what
+you've said: I shall forget it as soon as possible. Try and forget it
+yourself; you've done your duty, and no man can do more. I can't explain
+to you what I feel, what I believe, and I wouldn't if I could." She
+paused a moment and then went on with an inconsequence that Ralph
+observed even in the midst of his eagerness to discover some symptom of
+concession. "I can't enter into your idea of Mr. Osmond; I can't do it
+justice, because I see him in quite another way. He's not important--no,
+he's not important; he's a man to whom importance is supremely
+indifferent. If that's what you mean when you call him 'small,' then
+he's as small as you please. I call that large--it's the largest thing
+I know. I won't pretend to argue with you about a person I'm going to
+marry," Isabel repeated. "I'm not in the least concerned to defend Mr.
+Osmond; he's not so weak as to need my defence. I should think it would
+seem strange even to yourself that I should talk of him so quietly and
+coldly, as if he were any one else. I wouldn't talk of him at all to any
+one but you; and you, after what you've said--I may just answer you once
+for all. Pray, would you wish me to make a mercenary marriage--what
+they call a marriage of ambition? I've only one ambition--to be free to
+follow out a good feeling. I had others once, but they've passed away.
+Do you complain of Mr. Osmond because he's not rich? That's just what I
+like him for. I've fortunately money enough; I've never felt so thankful
+for it as to-day. There have been moments when I should like to go and
+kneel down by your father's grave: he did perhaps a better thing than
+he knew when he put it into my power to marry a poor man--a man who has
+borne his poverty with such dignity, with such indifference. Mr. Osmond
+has never scrambled nor struggled--he has cared for no worldly prize. If
+that's to be narrow, if that's to be selfish, then it's very well. I'm
+not frightened by such words, I'm not even displeased; I'm only sorry
+that you should make a mistake. Others might have done so, but I'm
+surprised that you should. You might know a gentleman when you see
+one--you might know a fine mind. Mr. Osmond makes no mistakes! He knows
+everything, he understands everything, he has the kindest, gentlest,
+highest spirit. You've got hold of some false idea. It's a pity, but
+I can't help it; it regards you more than me." Isabel paused a moment,
+looking at her cousin with an eye illumined by a sentiment which
+contradicted the careful calmness of her manner--a mingled sentiment,
+to which the angry pain excited by his words and the wounded pride of
+having needed to justify a choice of which she felt only the nobleness
+and purity, equally contributed. Though she paused Ralph said
+nothing; he saw she had more to say. She was grand, but she was highly
+solicitous; she was indifferent, but she was all in a passion. "What
+sort of a person should you have liked me to marry?" she asked suddenly.
+"You talk about one's soaring and sailing, but if one marries at all one
+touches the earth. One has human feelings and needs, one has a heart in
+one's bosom, and one must marry a particular individual. Your mother
+has never forgiven me for not having come to a better understanding
+with Lord Warburton, and she's horrified at my contenting myself with a
+person who has none of his great advantages--no property, no title,
+no honours, no houses, nor lands, nor position, nor reputation, nor
+brilliant belongings of any sort. It's the total absence of all these
+things that pleases me. Mr. Osmond's simply a very lonely, a very
+cultivated and a very honest man--he's not a prodigious proprietor."
+
+Ralph had listened with great attention, as if everything she said
+merited deep consideration; but in truth he was only half thinking of
+the things she said, he was for the rest simply accommodating himself
+to the weight of his total impression--the impression of her ardent good
+faith. She was wrong, but she believed; she was deluded, but she was
+dismally consistent. It was wonderfully characteristic of her that,
+having invented a fine theory, about Gilbert Osmond, she loved him not
+for what he really possessed, but for his very poverties dressed out as
+honours. Ralph remembered what he had said to his father about wishing
+to put it into her power to meet the requirements of her imagination. He
+had done so, and the girl had taken full advantage of the luxury. Poor
+Ralph felt sick; he felt ashamed. Isabel had uttered her last words with
+a low solemnity of conviction which virtually terminated the discussion,
+and she closed it formally by turning away and walking back to the
+house. Ralph walked beside her, and they passed into the court together
+and reached the big staircase. Here he stopped and Isabel paused,
+turning on him a face of elation--absolutely and perversely of
+gratitude. His opposition had made her own conception of her conduct
+clearer to her. "Shall you not come up to breakfast?" she asked.
+
+"No; I want no breakfast; I'm not hungry."
+
+"You ought to eat," said the girl; "you live on air."
+
+"I do, very much, and I shall go back into the garden and take another
+mouthful. I came thus far simply to say this. I told you last year that
+if you were to get into trouble I should feel terribly sold. That's how
+I feel to-day."
+
+"Do you think I'm in trouble?"
+
+"One's in trouble when one's in error."
+
+"Very well," said Isabel; "I shall never complain of my trouble to you!"
+And she moved up the staircase.
+
+Ralph, standing there with his hands in his pockets, followed her with
+his eyes; then the lurking chill of the high-walled court struck him and
+made him shiver, so that he returned to the garden to breakfast on the
+Florentine sunshine.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+Isabel, when she strolled in the Cascine with her lover, felt no impulse
+to tell him how little he was approved at Palazzo Crescentini. The
+discreet opposition offered to her marriage by her aunt and her cousin
+made on the whole no great impression upon her; the moral of it was
+simply that they disliked Gilbert Osmond. This dislike was not alarming
+to Isabel; she scarcely even regretted it; for it served mainly to
+throw into higher relief the fact, in every way so honourable, that she
+married to please herself. One did other things to please other people;
+one did this for a more personal satisfaction; and Isabel's satisfaction
+was confirmed by her lover's admirable good conduct. Gilbert Osmond was
+in love, and he had never deserved less than during these still, bright
+days, each of them numbered, which preceded the fulfilment of his
+hopes, the harsh criticism passed upon him by Ralph Touchett. The chief
+impression produced on Isabel's spirit by this criticism was that the
+passion of love separated its victim terribly from every one but the
+loved object. She felt herself disjoined from every one she had ever
+known before--from her two sisters, who wrote to express a dutiful hope
+that she would be happy, and a surprise, somewhat more vague, at her
+not having chosen a consort who was the hero of a richer accumulation of
+anecdote; from Henrietta, who, she was sure, would come out, too late,
+on purpose to remonstrate; from Lord Warburton, who would certainly
+console himself, and from Caspar Goodwood, who perhaps would not; from
+her aunt, who had cold, shallow ideas about marriage, for which she
+was not sorry to display her contempt; and from Ralph, whose talk
+about having great views for her was surely but a whimsical cover for
+a personal disappointment. Ralph apparently wished her not to marry
+at all--that was what it really meant--because he was amused with the
+spectacle of her adventures as a single woman. His disappointment made
+him say angry things about the man she had preferred even to him: Isabel
+flattered herself that she believed Ralph had been angry. It was the
+more easy for her to believe this because, as I say, she had now little
+free or unemployed emotion for minor needs, and accepted as an incident,
+in fact quite as an ornament, of her lot the idea that to prefer Gilbert
+Osmond as she preferred him was perforce to break all other ties. She
+tasted of the sweets of this preference, and they made her conscious,
+almost with awe, of the invidious and remorseless tide of the charmed
+and possessed condition, great as was the traditional honour and imputed
+virtue of being in love. It was the tragic part of happiness; one's
+right was always made of the wrong of some one else.
+
+The elation of success, which surely now flamed high in Osmond, emitted
+meanwhile very little smoke for so brilliant a blaze. Contentment, on
+his part, took no vulgar form; excitement, in the most self-conscious of
+men, was a kind of ecstasy of self-control. This disposition, however,
+made him an admirable lover; it gave him a constant view of the smitten
+and dedicated state. He never forgot himself, as I say; and so he
+never forgot to be graceful and tender, to wear the appearance--which
+presented indeed no difficulty--of stirred senses and deep intentions.
+He was immensely pleased with his young lady; Madame Merle had made him
+a present of incalculable value. What could be a finer thing to live
+with than a high spirit attuned to softness? For would not the softness
+be all for one's self, and the strenuousness for society, which admired
+the air of superiority? What could be a happier gift in a companion than
+a quick, fanciful mind which saved one repetitions and reflected one's
+thought on a polished, elegant surface? Osmond hated to see his thought
+reproduced literally--that made it look stale and stupid; he preferred
+it to be freshened in the reproduction even as "words" by music. His
+egotism had never taken the crude form of desiring a dull wife; this
+lady's intelligence was to be a silver plate, not an earthen one--a
+plate that he might heap up with ripe fruits, to which it would give
+a decorative value, so that talk might become for him a sort of served
+dessert. He found the silver quality in this perfection in Isabel; he
+could tap her imagination with his knuckle and make it ring. He knew
+perfectly, though he had not been told, that their union enjoyed little
+favour with the girl's relations; but he had always treated her so
+completely as an independent person that it hardly seemed necessary
+to express regret for the attitude of her family. Nevertheless, one
+morning, he made an abrupt allusion to it. "It's the difference in our
+fortune they don't like," he said. "They think I'm in love with your
+money."
+
+"Are you speaking of my aunt--of my cousin?" Isabel asked. "How do you
+know what they think?"
+
+"You've not told me they're pleased, and when I wrote to Mrs. Touchett
+the other day she never answered my note. If they had been delighted I
+should have had some sign of it, and the fact of my being poor and you
+rich is the most obvious explanation of their reserve. But of course
+when a poor man marries a rich girl he must be prepared for imputations.
+I don't mind them; I only care for one thing--for your not having
+the shadow of a doubt. I don't care what people of whom I ask nothing
+think--I'm not even capable perhaps of wanting to know. I've never so
+concerned myself, God forgive me, and why should I begin to-day, when I
+have taken to myself a compensation for everything? I won't pretend
+I'm sorry you're rich; I'm delighted. I delight in everything that's
+yours--whether it be money or virtue. Money's a horrid thing to follow,
+but a charming thing to meet. It seems to me, however, that I've
+sufficiently proved the limits of my itch for it: I never in my life
+tried to earn a penny, and I ought to be less subject to suspicion than
+most of the people one sees grubbing and grabbing. I suppose it's their
+business to suspect--that of your family; it's proper on the whole they
+should. They'll like me better some day; so will you, for that matter.
+Meanwhile my business is not to make myself bad blood, but simply to
+be thankful for life and love." "It has made me better, loving you," he
+said on another occasion; "it has made me wiser and easier and--I won't
+pretend to deny--brighter and nicer and even stronger. I used to want
+a great many things before and to be angry I didn't have them.
+Theoretically I was satisfied, as I once told you. I flattered myself
+I had limited my wants. But I was subject to irritation; I used to
+have morbid, sterile, hateful fits of hunger, of desire. Now I'm really
+satisfied, because I can't think of anything better. It's just as when
+one has been trying to spell out a book in the twilight and suddenly the
+lamp comes in. I had been putting out my eyes over the book of life and
+finding nothing to reward me for my pains; but now that I can read it
+properly I see it's a delightful story. My dear girl, I can't tell you
+how life seems to stretch there before us--what a long summer afternoon
+awaits us. It's the latter half of an Italian day--with a golden haze,
+and the shadows just lengthening, and that divine delicacy in the light,
+the air, the landscape, which I have loved all my life and which you
+love to-day. Upon my honour, I don't see why we shouldn't get on. We've
+got what we like--to say nothing of having each other. We've the faculty
+of admiration and several capital convictions. We're not stupid, we're
+not mean, we're not under bonds to any kind of ignorance or dreariness.
+You're remarkably fresh, and I'm remarkably well-seasoned. We've my poor
+child to amuse us; we'll try and make up some little life for her. It's
+all soft and mellow--it has the Italian colouring."
+
+They made a good many plans, but they left themselves also a good deal
+of latitude; it was a matter of course, however, that they should live
+for the present in Italy. It was in Italy that they had met, Italy had
+been a party to their first impressions of each other, and Italy
+should be a party to their happiness. Osmond had the attachment of old
+acquaintance and Isabel the stimulus of new, which seemed to assure her
+a future at a high level of consciousness of the beautiful. The desire
+for unlimited expansion had been succeeded in her soul by the sense
+that life was vacant without some private duty that might gather one's
+energies to a point. She had told Ralph she had "seen life" in a year
+or two and that she was already tired, not of the act of living, but of
+that of observing. What had become of all her ardours, her aspirations,
+her theories, her high estimate of her independence and her incipient
+conviction that she should never marry? These things had been absorbed
+in a more primitive need--a need the answer to which brushed away
+numberless questions, yet gratified infinite desires. It simplified the
+situation at a stroke, it came down from above like the light of the
+stars, and it needed no explanation. There was explanation enough in the
+fact that he was her lover, her own, and that she should be able to be
+of use to him. She could surrender to him with a kind of humility, she
+could marry him with a kind of pride; she was not only taking, she was
+giving.
+
+He brought Pansy with him two or three times to the Cascine--Pansy who
+was very little taller than a year before, and not much older. That she
+would always be a child was the conviction expressed by her father, who
+held her by the hand when she was in her sixteenth year and told her to
+go and play while he sat down a little with the pretty lady. Pansy wore
+a short dress and a long coat; her hat always seemed too big for her.
+She found pleasure in walking off, with quick, short steps, to the
+end of the alley, and then in walking back with a smile that seemed an
+appeal for approbation. Isabel approved in abundance, and the abundance
+had the personal touch that the child's affectionate nature craved.
+She watched her indications as if for herself also much depended on
+them--Pansy already so represented part of the service she could render,
+part of the responsibility she could face. Her father took so the
+childish view of her that he had not yet explained to her the new
+relation in which he stood to the elegant Miss Archer. "She doesn't
+know," he said to Isabel; "she doesn't guess; she thinks it perfectly
+natural that you and I should come and walk here together simply as good
+friends. There seems to me something enchantingly innocent in that; it's
+the way I like her to be. No, I'm not a failure, as I used to think;
+I've succeeded in two things. I'm to marry the woman I adore, and I've
+brought up my child, as I wished, in the old way."
+
+He was very fond, in all things, of the "old way"; that had struck
+Isabel as one of his fine, quiet, sincere notes. "It occurs to me that
+you'll not know whether you've succeeded until you've told her," she
+said. "You must see how she takes your news, She may be horrified--she
+may be jealous."
+
+"I'm not afraid of that; she's too fond of you on her own account. I
+should like to leave her in the dark a little longer--to see if it will
+come into her head that if we're not engaged we ought to be."
+
+Isabel was impressed by Osmond's artistic, the plastic view, as it
+somehow appeared, of Pansy's innocence--her own appreciation of it being
+more anxiously moral. She was perhaps not the less pleased when he told
+her a few days later that he had communicated the fact to his daughter,
+who had made such a pretty little speech--"Oh, then I shall have a
+beautiful sister!" She was neither surprised nor alarmed; she had not
+cried, as he expected.
+
+"Perhaps she had guessed it," said Isabel.
+
+"Don't say that; I should be disgusted if I believed that. I thought it
+would be just a little shock; but the way she took it proves that her
+good manners are paramount. That's also what I wished. You shall see for
+yourself; to-morrow she shall make you her congratulations in person."
+
+The meeting, on the morrow, took place at the Countess Gemini's, whither
+Pansy had been conducted by her father, who knew that Isabel was to come
+in the afternoon to return a visit made her by the Countess on learning
+that they were to become sisters-in-law. Calling at Casa Touchett the
+visitor had not found Isabel at home; but after our young woman had been
+ushered into the Countess's drawing-room Pansy arrived to say that her
+aunt would presently appear. Pansy was spending the day with that lady,
+who thought her of an age to begin to learn how to carry herself in
+company. It was Isabel's view that the little girl might have given
+lessons in deportment to her relative, and nothing could have justified
+this conviction more than the manner in which Pansy acquitted herself
+while they waited together for the Countess. Her father's decision, the
+year before, had finally been to send her back to the convent to receive
+the last graces, and Madame Catherine had evidently carried out her
+theory that Pansy was to be fitted for the great world.
+
+"Papa has told me that you've kindly consented to marry him," said this
+excellent woman's pupil. "It's very delightful; I think you'll suit very
+well."
+
+"You think I shall suit YOU?"
+
+"You'll suit me beautifully; but what I mean is that you and papa will
+suit each other. You're both so quiet and so serious. You're not so
+quiet as he--or even as Madame Merle; but you're more quiet than many
+others. He should not for instance have a wife like my aunt. She's
+always in motion, in agitation--to-day especially; you'll see when she
+comes in. They told us at the convent it was wrong to judge our elders,
+but I suppose there's no harm if we judge them favourably. You'll be a
+delightful companion for papa."
+
+"For you too, I hope," Isabel said.
+
+"I speak first of him on purpose. I've told you already what I myself
+think of you; I liked you from the first. I admire you so much that I
+think it will be a good fortune to have you always before me. You'll be
+my model; I shall try to imitate you though I'm afraid it will be
+very feeble. I'm very glad for papa--he needed something more than
+me. Without you I don't see how he could have got it. You'll be my
+stepmother, but we mustn't use that word. They're always said to be
+cruel; but I don't think you'll ever so much as pinch or even push me.
+I'm not afraid at all."
+
+"My good little Pansy," said Isabel gently, "I shall be ever so kind to
+you." A vague, inconsequent vision of her coming in some odd way to need
+it had intervened with the effect of a chill.
+
+"Very well then, I've nothing to fear," the child returned with her
+note of prepared promptitude. What teaching she had had, it seemed to
+suggest--or what penalties for non-performance she dreaded!
+
+Her description of her aunt had not been incorrect; the Countess Gemini
+was further than ever from having folded her wings. She entered the room
+with a flutter through the air and kissed Isabel first on the forehead
+and then on each cheek as if according to some ancient prescribed rite.
+She drew the visitor to a sofa and, looking at her with a variety of
+turns of the head, began to talk very much as if, seated brush in hand
+before an easel, she were applying a series of considered touches to
+a composition of figures already sketched in. "If you expect me to
+congratulate you I must beg you to excuse me. I don't suppose you care
+if I do or not; I believe you're supposed not to care--through being so
+clever--for all sorts of ordinary things. But I care myself if I tell
+fibs; I never tell them unless there's something rather good to be
+gained. I don't see what's to be gained with you--especially as you
+wouldn't believe me. I don't make professions any more than I make paper
+flowers or flouncey lampshades--I don't know how. My lampshades would be
+sure to take fire, my roses and my fibs to be larger than life. I'm very
+glad for my own sake that you're to marry Osmond; but I won't pretend
+I'm glad for yours. You're very brilliant--you know that's the way
+you're always spoken of; you're an heiress and very good-looking and
+original, not banal; so it's a good thing to have you in the family.
+Our family's very good, you know; Osmond will have told you that; and
+my mother was rather distinguished--she was called the American Corinne.
+But we're dreadfully fallen, I think, and perhaps you'll pick us up.
+I've great confidence in you; there are ever so many things I want to
+talk to you about. I never congratulate any girl on marrying; I think
+they ought to make it somehow not quite so awful a steel trap. I suppose
+Pansy oughtn't to hear all this; but that's what she has come to me
+for--to acquire the tone of society. There's no harm in her knowing what
+horrors she may be in for. When first I got an idea that my brother had
+designs on you I thought of writing to you, to recommend you, in the
+strongest terms, not to listen to him. Then I thought it would be
+disloyal, and I hate anything of that kind. Besides, as I say, I was
+enchanted for myself; and after all I'm very selfish. By the way, you
+won't respect me, not one little mite, and we shall never be intimate.
+I should like it, but you won't. Some day, all the same, we shall be
+better friends than you will believe at first. My husband will come and
+see you, though, as you probably know, he's on no sort of terms with
+Osmond. He's very fond of going to see pretty women, but I'm not afraid
+of you. In the first place I don't care what he does. In the second, you
+won't care a straw for him; he won't be a bit, at any time, your affair,
+and, stupid as he is, he'll see you're not his. Some day, if you can
+stand it, I'll tell you all about him. Do you think my niece ought to go
+out of the room? Pansy, go and practise a little in my boudoir."
+
+"Let her stay, please," said Isabel. "I would rather hear nothing that
+Pansy may not!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+One afternoon of the autumn of 1876, toward dusk, a young man of
+pleasing appearance rang at the door of a small apartment on the third
+floor of an old Roman house. On its being opened he enquired for Madame
+Merle; whereupon the servant, a neat, plain woman, with a French face
+and a lady's maid's manner, ushered him into a diminutive drawing-room
+and requested the favour of his name. "Mr. Edward Rosier," said the
+young man, who sat down to wait till his hostess should appear.
+
+The reader will perhaps not have forgotten that Mr. Rosier was an
+ornament of the American circle in Paris, but it may also be remembered
+that he sometimes vanished from its horizon. He had spent a portion of
+several winters at Pau, and as he was a gentleman of constituted habits
+he might have continued for years to pay his annual visit to this
+charming resort. In the summer of 1876, however, an incident befell him
+which changed the current not only of his thoughts, but of his customary
+sequences. He passed a month in the Upper Engadine and encountered at
+Saint Moritz a charming young girl. To this little person he began to
+pay, on the spot, particular attention: she struck him as exactly the
+household angel he had long been looking for. He was never precipitate,
+he was nothing if not discreet, so he forbore for the present to declare
+his passion; but it seemed to him when they parted--the young lady to go
+down into Italy and her admirer to proceed to Geneva, where he was under
+bonds to join other friends--that he should be romantically wretched if
+he were not to see her again. The simplest way to do so was to go in
+the autumn to Rome, where Miss Osmond was domiciled with her family. Mr.
+Rosier started on his pilgrimage to the Italian capital and reached it
+on the first of November. It was a pleasant thing to do, but for the
+young man there was a strain of the heroic in the enterprise. He might
+expose himself, unseasoned, to the poison of the Roman air, which in
+November lay, notoriously, much in wait. Fortune, however, favours the
+brave; and this adventurer, who took three grains of quinine a day, had
+at the end of a month no cause to deplore his temerity. He had made to
+a certain extent good use of his time; he had devoted it in vain
+to finding a flaw in Pansy Osmond's composition. She was admirably
+finished; she had had the last touch; she was really a consummate piece.
+He thought of her in amorous meditation a good deal as he might have
+thought of a Dresden-china shepherdess. Miss Osmond, indeed, in the
+bloom of her juvenility, had a hint of the rococo which Rosier, whose
+taste was predominantly for that manner, could not fail to appreciate.
+That he esteemed the productions of comparatively frivolous periods
+would have been apparent from the attention he bestowed upon Madame
+Merle's drawing-room, which, although furnished with specimens of every
+style, was especially rich in articles of the last two centuries. He
+had immediately put a glass into one eye and looked round; and then "By
+Jove, she has some jolly good things!" he had yearningly murmured. The
+room was small and densely filled with furniture; it gave an impression
+of faded silk and little statuettes which might totter if one moved.
+Rosier got up and wandered about with his careful tread, bending over
+the tables charged with knick-knacks and the cushions embossed with
+princely arms. When Madame Merle came in she found him standing before
+the fireplace with his nose very close to the great lace flounce
+attached to the damask cover of the mantel. He had lifted it delicately,
+as if he were smelling it.
+
+"It's old Venetian," she said; "it's rather good."
+
+"It's too good for this; you ought to wear it."
+
+"They tell me you have some better in Paris, in the same situation."
+
+"Ah, but I can't wear mine," smiled the visitor.
+
+"I don't see why you shouldn't! I've better lace than that to wear."
+
+His eyes wandered, lingeringly, round the room again. "You've some very
+good things."
+
+"Yes, but I hate them."
+
+"Do you want to get rid of them?" the young man quickly asked.
+
+"No, it's good to have something to hate: one works it off!"
+
+"I love my things," said Mr. Rosier as he sat there flushed with all his
+recognitions. "But it's not about them, nor about yours, that I came
+to talk to you." He paused a moment and then, with greater softness: "I
+care more for Miss Osmond than for all the bibelots in Europe!"
+
+Madame Merle opened wide eyes. "Did you come to tell me that?"
+
+"I came to ask your advice."
+
+She looked at him with a friendly frown, stroking her chin with her
+large white hand. "A man in love, you know, doesn't ask advice."
+
+"Why not, if he's in a difficult position? That's often the case with a
+man in love. I've been in love before, and I know. But never so much as
+this time--really never so much. I should like particularly to know what
+you think of my prospects. I'm afraid that for Mr. Osmond I'm not--well,
+a real collector's piece."
+
+"Do you wish me to intercede?" Madame Merle asked with her fine arms
+folded and her handsome mouth drawn up to the left.
+
+"If you could say a good word for me I should be greatly obliged. There
+will be no use in my troubling Miss Osmond unless I have good reason to
+believe her father will consent."
+
+"You're very considerate; that's in your favour. But you assume in
+rather an off-hand way that I think you a prize."
+
+"You've been very kind to me," said the young man. "That's why I came."
+
+"I'm always kind to people who have good Louis Quatorze. It's very rare
+now, and there's no telling what one may get by it." With which the
+left-hand corner of Madame Merle's mouth gave expression to the joke.
+
+But he looked, in spite of it, literally apprehensive and consistently
+strenuous. "Ah, I thought you liked me for myself!"
+
+"I like you very much; but, if you please, we won't analyse. Pardon me
+if I seem patronising, but I think you a perfect little gentleman. I
+must tell you, however, that I've not the marrying of Pansy Osmond."
+
+"I didn't suppose that. But you've seemed to me intimate with her
+family, and I thought you might have influence."
+
+Madame Merle considered. "Whom do you call her family?"
+
+"Why, her father; and--how do you say it in English?--her belle-mere."
+
+"Mr. Osmond's her father, certainly; but his wife can scarcely be termed
+a member of her family. Mrs. Osmond has nothing to do with marrying
+her."
+
+"I'm sorry for that," said Rosier with an amiable sigh of good faith. "I
+think Mrs. Osmond would favour me."
+
+"Very likely--if her husband doesn't."
+
+He raised his eyebrows. "Does she take the opposite line from him?"
+
+"In everything. They think quite differently."
+
+"Well," said Rosier, "I'm sorry for that; but it's none of my business.
+She's very fond of Pansy."
+
+"Yes, she's very fond of Pansy."
+
+"And Pansy has a great affection for her. She has told me how she loves
+her as if she were her own mother."
+
+"You must, after all, have had some very intimate talk with the poor
+child," said Madame Merle. "Have you declared your sentiments?"
+
+"Never!" cried Rosier, lifting his neatly-gloved hand. "Never till I've
+assured myself of those of the parents."
+
+"You always wait for that? You've excellent principles; you observe the
+proprieties."
+
+"I think you're laughing at me," the young man murmured, dropping back
+in his chair and feeling his small moustache. "I didn't expect that of
+you, Madame Merle."
+
+She shook her head calmly, like a person who saw things as she saw them.
+"You don't do me justice. I think your conduct in excellent taste and
+the best you could adopt. Yes, that's what I think."
+
+"I wouldn't agitate her--only to agitate her; I love her too much for
+that," said Ned Rosier.
+
+"I'm glad, after all, that you've told me," Madame Merle went on. "Leave
+it to me a little; I think I can help you."
+
+"I said you were the person to come to!" her visitor cried with prompt
+elation.
+
+"You were very clever," Madame Merle returned more dryly. "When I say I
+can help you I mean once assuming your cause to be good. Let us think a
+little if it is."
+
+"I'm awfully decent, you know," said Rosier earnestly. "I won't say I've
+no faults, but I'll say I've no vices."
+
+"All that's negative, and it always depends, also, on what people call
+vices. What's the positive side? What's the virtuous? What have you got
+besides your Spanish lace and your Dresden teacups?"
+
+"I've a comfortable little fortune--about forty thousand francs a year.
+With the talent I have for arranging, we can live beautifully on such an
+income."
+
+"Beautifully, no. Sufficiently, yes. Even that depends on where you
+live."
+
+"Well, in Paris. I would undertake it in Paris."
+
+Madame Merle's mouth rose to the left. "It wouldn't be famous; you'd
+have to make use of the teacups, and they'd get broken."
+
+"We don't want to be famous. If Miss Osmond should have everything
+pretty it would be enough. When one's as pretty as she one can
+afford--well, quite cheap faience. She ought never to wear anything but
+muslin--without the sprig," said Rosier reflectively.
+
+"Wouldn't you even allow her the sprig? She'd be much obliged to you at
+any rate for that theory."
+
+"It's the correct one, I assure you; and I'm sure she'd enter into it.
+She understands all that; that's why I love her."
+
+"She's a very good little girl, and most tidy--also extremely graceful.
+But her father, to the best of my belief, can give her nothing."
+
+Rosier scarce demurred. "I don't in the least desire that he should. But
+I may remark, all the same, that he lives like a rich man."
+
+"The money's his wife's; she brought him a large fortune."
+
+"Mrs. Osmond then is very fond of her stepdaughter; she may do
+something."
+
+"For a love-sick swain you have your eyes about you!" Madame Merle
+exclaimed with a laugh.
+
+"I esteem a dot very much. I can do without it, but I esteem it."
+
+"Mrs. Osmond," Madame Merle went on, "will probably prefer to keep her
+money for her own children."
+
+"Her own children? Surely she has none."
+
+"She may have yet. She had a poor little boy, who died two years ago,
+six months after his birth. Others therefore may come."
+
+"I hope they will, if it will make her happy. She's a splendid woman."
+
+Madame Merle failed to burst into speech. "Ah, about her there's much to
+be said. Splendid as you like! We've not exactly made out that you're a
+parti. The absence of vices is hardly a source of income.
+
+"Pardon me, I think it may be," said Rosier quite lucidly.
+
+"You'll be a touching couple, living on your innocence!"
+
+"I think you underrate me."
+
+"You're not so innocent as that? Seriously," said Madame Merle,
+"of course forty thousand francs a year and a nice character are a
+combination to be considered. I don't say it's to be jumped at, but
+there might be a worse offer. Mr. Osmond, however, will probably incline
+to believe he can do better."
+
+"HE can do so perhaps; but what can his daughter do? She can't do better
+than marry the man she loves. For she does, you know," Rosier added
+eagerly.
+
+"She does--I know it."
+
+"Ah," cried the young man, "I said you were the person to come to."
+
+"But I don't know how you know it, if you haven't asked her," Madame
+Merle went on.
+
+"In such a case there's no need of asking and telling; as you say, we're
+an innocent couple. How did YOU know it?"
+
+"I who am not innocent? By being very crafty. Leave it to me; I'll find
+out for you."
+
+Rosier got up and stood smoothing his hat. "You say that rather coldly.
+Don't simply find out how it is, but try to make it as it should be."
+
+"I'll do my best. I'll try to make the most of your advantages."
+
+"Thank you so very much. Meanwhile then I'll say a word to Mrs. Osmond."
+
+"Gardez-vous-en bien!" And Madame Merle was on her feet. "Don't set her
+going, or you'll spoil everything."
+
+Rosier gazed into his hat; he wondered whether his hostess HAD been
+after all the right person to come to. "I don't think I understand
+you. I'm an old friend of Mrs. Osmond, and I think she would like me to
+succeed."
+
+"Be an old friend as much as you like; the more old friends she has the
+better, for she doesn't get on very well with some of her new. But don't
+for the present try to make her take up the cudgels for you. Her husband
+may have other views, and, as a person who wishes her well, I advise you
+not to multiply points of difference between them."
+
+Poor Rosier's face assumed an expression of alarm; a suit for the hand
+of Pansy Osmond was even a more complicated business than his taste
+for proper transitions had allowed. But the extreme good sense which
+he concealed under a surface suggesting that of a careful owner's "best
+set" came to his assistance. "I don't see that I'm bound to consider Mr.
+Osmond so very much!" he exclaimed. "No, but you should consider HER.
+You say you're an old friend. Would you make her suffer?"
+
+"Not for the world."
+
+"Then be very careful, and let the matter alone till I've taken a few
+soundings."
+
+"Let the matter alone, dear Madame Merle? Remember that I'm in love."
+
+"Oh, you won't burn up! Why did you come to me, if you're not to heed
+what I say?"
+
+"You're very kind; I'll be very good," the young man promised. "But I'm
+afraid Mr. Osmond's pretty hard," he added in his mild voice as he went
+to the door.
+
+Madame Merle gave a short laugh. "It has been said before. But his wife
+isn't easy either."
+
+"Ah, she's a splendid woman!" Ned Rosier repeated, for departure.
+He resolved that his conduct should be worthy of an aspirant who was
+already a model of discretion; but he saw nothing in any pledge he
+had given Madame Merle that made it improper he should keep himself
+in spirits by an occasional visit to Miss Osmond's home. He reflected
+constantly on what his adviser had said to him, and turned over in his
+mind the impression of her rather circumspect tone. He had gone to her
+de confiance, as they put it in Paris; but it was possible he had been
+precipitate. He found difficulty in thinking of himself as rash--he had
+incurred this reproach so rarely; but it certainly was true that he had
+known Madame Merle only for the last month, and that his thinking her
+a delightful woman was not, when one came to look into it, a reason for
+assuming that she would be eager to push Pansy Osmond into his arms,
+gracefully arranged as these members might be to receive her. She had
+indeed shown him benevolence, and she was a person of consideration
+among the girl's people, where she had a rather striking appearance
+(Rosier had more than once wondered how she managed it) of being
+intimate without being familiar. But possibly he had exaggerated these
+advantages. There was no particular reason why she should take trouble
+for him; a charming woman was charming to every one, and Rosier felt
+rather a fool when he thought of his having appealed to her on the
+ground that she had distinguished him. Very likely--though she had
+appeared to say it in joke--she was really only thinking of his
+bibelots. Had it come into her head that he might offer her two or three
+of the gems of his collection? If she would only help him to marry Miss
+Osmond he would present her with his whole museum. He could hardly say
+so to her outright; it would seem too gross a bribe. But he should like
+her to believe it.
+
+It was with these thoughts that he went again to Mrs. Osmond's,
+Mrs. Osmond having an "evening"--she had taken the Thursday of each
+week--when his presence could be accounted for on general principles of
+civility. The object of Mr. Rosier's well-regulated affection dwelt in
+a high house in the very heart of Rome; a dark and massive structure
+overlooking a sunny piazzetta in the neighbourhood of the Farnese
+Palace. In a palace, too, little Pansy lived--a palace by Roman measure,
+but a dungeon to poor Rosier's apprehensive mind. It seemed to him of
+evil omen that the young lady he wished to marry, and whose fastidious
+father he doubted of his ability to conciliate, should be immured in
+a kind of domestic fortress, a pile which bore a stern old Roman name,
+which smelt of historic deeds, of crime and craft and violence, which
+was mentioned in "Murray" and visited by tourists who looked, on a vague
+survey, disappointed and depressed, and which had frescoes by Caravaggio
+in the piano nobile and a row of mutilated statues and dusty urns in the
+wide, nobly-arched loggia overhanging the damp court where a fountain
+gushed out of a mossy niche. In a less preoccupied frame of mind he
+could have done justice to the Palazzo Roccanera; he could have entered
+into the sentiment of Mrs. Osmond, who had once told him that on
+settling themselves in Rome she and her husband had chosen this
+habitation for the love of local colour. It had local colour enough,
+and though he knew less about architecture than about Limoges enamels
+he could see that the proportions of the windows and even the details
+of the cornice had quite the grand air. But Rosier was haunted by the
+conviction that at picturesque periods young girls had been shut up
+there to keep them from their true loves, and then, under the threat of
+being thrown into convents, had been forced into unholy marriages. There
+was one point, however, to which he always did justice when once he
+found himself in Mrs. Osmond's warm, rich-looking reception-rooms, which
+were on the second floor. He acknowledged that these people were very
+strong in "good things." It was a taste of Osmond's own--not at all of
+hers; this she had told him the first time he came to the house, when,
+after asking himself for a quarter of an hour whether they had even
+better "French" than he in Paris, he was obliged on the spot to admit
+that they had, very much, and vanquished his envy, as a gentleman
+should, to the point of expressing to his hostess his pure admiration of
+her treasures. He learned from Mrs. Osmond that her husband had made a
+large collection before their marriage and that, though he had annexed
+a number of fine pieces within the last three years, he had achieved his
+greatest finds at a time when he had not the advantage of her advice.
+Rosier interpreted this information according to principles of his own.
+For "advice" read "cash," he said to himself; and the fact that Gilbert
+Osmond had landed his highest prizes during his impecunious season
+confirmed his most cherished doctrine--the doctrine that a collector may
+freely be poor if he be only patient. In general, when Rosier presented
+himself on a Thursday evening, his first recognition was for the walls
+of the saloon; there were three or four objects his eyes really
+yearned for. But after his talk with Madame Merle he felt the extreme
+seriousness of his position; and now, when he came in, he looked about
+for the daughter of the house with such eagerness as might be permitted
+a gentleman whose smile, as he crossed a threshold, always took
+everything comfortable for granted.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+Pansy was not in the first of the rooms, a large apartment with a
+concave ceiling and walls covered with old red damask; it was here
+Mrs. Osmond usually sat--though she was not in her most customary place
+to-night--and that a circle of more especial intimates gathered about
+the fire. The room was flushed with subdued, diffused brightness; it
+contained the larger things and--almost always--an odour of flowers.
+Pansy on this occasion was presumably in the next of the series, the
+resort of younger visitors, where tea was served. Osmond stood before
+the chimney, leaning back with his hands behind him; he had one foot up
+and was warming the sole. Half a dozen persons, scattered near him, were
+talking together; but he was not in the conversation; his eyes had an
+expression, frequent with them, that seemed to represent them as engaged
+with objects more worth their while than the appearances actually
+thrust upon them. Rosier, coming in unannounced, failed to attract his
+attention; but the young man, who was very punctilious, though he was
+even exceptionally conscious that it was the wife, not the husband, he
+had come to see, went up to shake hands with him. Osmond put out his
+left hand, without changing his attitude.
+
+"How d'ye do? My wife's somewhere about."
+
+"Never fear; I shall find her," said Rosier cheerfully.
+
+Osmond, however, took him in; he had never in his life felt himself so
+efficiently looked at. "Madame Merle has told him, and he doesn't like
+it," he privately reasoned. He had hoped Madame Merle would be there,
+but she was not in sight; perhaps she was in one of the other rooms or
+would come later. He had never especially delighted in Gilbert Osmond,
+having a fancy he gave himself airs. But Rosier was not quickly
+resentful, and where politeness was concerned had ever a strong need of
+being quite in the right. He looked round him and smiled, all without
+help, and then in a moment, "I saw a jolly good piece of Capo di Monte
+to-day," he said.
+
+Osmond answered nothing at first; but presently, while he warmed his
+boot-sole, "I don't care a fig for Capo di Monte!" he returned.
+
+"I hope you're not losing your interest?"
+
+"In old pots and plates? Yes, I'm losing my interest."
+
+Rosier for an instant forgot the delicacy of his position. "You're not
+thinking of parting with a--a piece or two?"
+
+"No, I'm not thinking of parting with anything at all, Mr. Rosier," said
+Osmond, with his eyes still on the eyes of his visitor.
+
+"Ah, you want to keep, but not to add," Rosier remarked brightly.
+
+"Exactly. I've nothing I wish to match."
+
+Poor Rosier was aware he had blushed; he was distressed at his want of
+assurance. "Ah, well, I have!" was all he could murmur; and he knew
+his murmur was partly lost as he turned away. He took his course to the
+adjoining room and met Mrs. Osmond coming out of the deep doorway. She
+was dressed in black velvet; she looked high and splendid, as he had
+said, and yet oh so radiantly gentle! We know what Mr. Rosier thought
+of her and the terms in which, to Madame Merle, he had expressed his
+admiration. Like his appreciation of her dear little stepdaughter it
+was based partly on his eye for decorative character, his instinct for
+authenticity; but also on a sense for uncatalogued values, for that
+secret of a "lustre" beyond any recorded losing or rediscovering,
+which his devotion to brittle wares had still not disqualified him
+to recognise. Mrs. Osmond, at present, might well have gratified such
+tastes. The years had touched her only to enrich her; the flower of her
+youth had not faded, it only hung more quietly on its stem. She had lost
+something of that quick eagerness to which her husband had privately
+taken exception--she had more the air of being able to wait. Now, at all
+events, framed in the gilded doorway, she struck our young man as the
+picture of a gracious lady. "You see I'm very regular," he said. "But
+who should be if I'm not?"
+
+"Yes, I've known you longer than any one here. But we mustn't indulge in
+tender reminiscences. I want to introduce you to a young lady."
+
+"Ah, please, what young lady?" Rosier was immensely obliging; but this
+was not what he had come for.
+
+"She sits there by the fire in pink and has no one to speak to." Rosier
+hesitated a moment. "Can't Mr. Osmond speak to her? He's within six feet
+of her."
+
+Mrs. Osmond also hesitated. "She's not very lively, and he doesn't like
+dull people."
+
+"But she's good enough for me? Ah now, that's hard!"
+
+"I only mean that you've ideas for two. And then you're so obliging."
+
+"No, he's not--to me." And Mrs. Osmond vaguely smiled.
+
+"That's a sign he should be doubly so to other women.
+
+"So I tell him," she said, still smiling.
+
+"You see I want some tea," Rosier went on, looking wistfully beyond.
+
+"That's perfect. Go and give some to my young lady."
+
+"Very good; but after that I'll abandon her to her fate. The simple
+truth is I'm dying to have a little talk with Miss Osmond."
+
+"Ah," said Isabel, turning away, "I can't help you there!"
+
+Five minutes later, while he handed a tea-cup to the damsel in pink,
+whom he had conducted into the other room, he wondered whether, in
+making to Mrs. Osmond the profession I have just quoted, he had broken
+the spirit of his promise to Madame Merle. Such a question was capable
+of occupying this young man's mind for a considerable time. At last,
+however, he became--comparatively speaking--reckless; he cared little
+what promises he might break. The fate to which he had threatened to
+abandon the damsel in pink proved to be none so terrible; for Pansy
+Osmond, who had given him the tea for his companion--Pansy was as fond
+as ever of making tea--presently came and talked to her. Into this mild
+colloquy Edward Rosier entered little; he sat by moodily, watching his
+small sweetheart. If we look at her now through his eyes we shall at
+first not see much to remind us of the obedient little girl who, at
+Florence, three years before, was sent to walk short distances in the
+Cascine while her father and Miss Archer talked together of matters
+sacred to elder people. But after a moment we shall perceive that if at
+nineteen Pansy has become a young lady she doesn't really fill out the
+part; that if she has grown very pretty she lacks in a deplorable degree
+the quality known and esteemed in the appearance of females as style;
+and that if she is dressed with great freshness she wears her smart
+attire with an undisguised appearance of saving it--very much as if it
+were lent her for the occasion. Edward Rosier, it would seem, would have
+been just the man to note these defects; and in point of fact there was
+not a quality of this young lady, of any sort, that he had not noted.
+Only he called her qualities by names of his own--some of which indeed
+were happy enough. "No, she's unique--she's absolutely unique," he used
+to say to himself; and you may be sure that not for an instant would he
+have admitted to you that she was wanting in style. Style? Why, she had
+the style of a little princess; if you couldn't see it you had no eye.
+It was not modern, it was not conscious, it would produce no impression
+in Broadway; the small, serious damsel, in her stiff little dress, only
+looked like an Infanta of Velasquez. This was enough for Edward Rosier,
+who thought her delightfully old-fashioned. Her anxious eyes, her
+charming lips, her slip of a figure, were as touching as a childish
+prayer. He had now an acute desire to know just to what point she liked
+him--a desire which made him fidget as he sat in his chair. It made him
+feel hot, so that he had to pat his forehead with his handkerchief; he
+had never been so uncomfortable. She was such a perfect jeune fille, and
+one couldn't make of a jeune fille the enquiry requisite for throwing
+light on such a point. A jeune fille was what Rosier had always dreamed
+of--a jeune fille who should yet not be French, for he had felt that
+this nationality would complicate the question. He was sure Pansy had
+never looked at a newspaper and that, in the way of novels, if she
+had read Sir Walter Scott it was the very most. An American jeune
+fille--what could be better than that? She would be frank and gay, and
+yet would not have walked alone, nor have received letters from men,
+nor have been taken to the theatre to see the comedy of manners. Rosier
+could not deny that, as the matter stood, it would be a breach of
+hospitality to appeal directly to this unsophisticated creature; but
+he was now in imminent danger of asking himself if hospitality were
+the most sacred thing in the world. Was not the sentiment that he
+entertained for Miss Osmond of infinitely greater importance? Of greater
+importance to him--yes; but not probably to the master of the house.
+There was one comfort; even if this gentleman had been placed on his
+guard by Madame Merle he would not have extended the warning to Pansy;
+it would not have been part of his policy to let her know that a
+prepossessing young man was in love with her. But he WAS in love
+with her, the prepossessing young man; and all these restrictions of
+circumstance had ended by irritating him. What had Gilbert Osmond meant
+by giving him two fingers of his left hand? If Osmond was rude, surely
+he himself might be bold. He felt extremely bold after the dull girl
+in so vain a disguise of rose-colour had responded to the call of her
+mother, who came in to say, with a significant simper at Rosier, that
+she must carry her off to other triumphs. The mother and daughter
+departed together, and now it depended only upon him that he should be
+virtually alone with Pansy. He had never been alone with her before;
+he had never been alone with a jeune fille. It was a great moment; poor
+Rosier began to pat his forehead again. There was another room beyond
+the one in which they stood--a small room that had been thrown open and
+lighted, but that, the company not being numerous, had remained empty
+all the evening. It was empty yet; it was upholstered in pale yellow;
+there were several lamps; through the open door it looked the very
+temple of authorised love. Rosier gazed a moment through this aperture;
+he was afraid that Pansy would run away, and felt almost capable of
+stretching out a hand to detain her. But she lingered where the other
+maiden had left them, making no motion to join a knot of visitors on
+the far side of the room. For a little it occurred to him that she was
+frightened--too frightened perhaps to move; but a second glance assured
+him she was not, and he then reflected that she was too innocent indeed
+for that. After a supreme hesitation he asked her if he might go and
+look at the yellow room, which seemed so attractive yet so virginal. He
+had been there already with Osmond, to inspect the furniture, which was
+of the First French Empire, and especially to admire the clock (which he
+didn't really admire), an immense classic structure of that period. He
+therefore felt that he had now begun to manoeuvre.
+
+"Certainly, you may go," said Pansy; "and if you like I'll show you."
+She was not in the least frightened.
+
+"That's just what I hoped you'd say; you're so very kind," Rosier
+murmured.
+
+They went in together; Rosier really thought the room very ugly, and it
+seemed cold. The same idea appeared to have struck Pansy. "It's not for
+winter evenings; it's more for summer," she said. "It's papa's taste; he
+has so much."
+
+He had a good deal, Rosier thought; but some of it was very bad. He
+looked about him; he hardly knew what to say in such a situation.
+"Doesn't Mrs. Osmond care how her rooms are done? Has she no taste?" he
+asked.
+
+"Oh yes, a great deal; but it's more for literature," said Pansy--"and
+for conversation. But papa cares also for those things. I think he knows
+everything."
+
+Rosier was silent a little. "There's one thing I'm sure he knows!" he
+broke out presently. "He knows that when I come here it's, with all
+respect to him, with all respect to Mrs. Osmond, who's so charming--it's
+really," said the young man, "to see you!"
+
+"To see me?" And Pansy raised her vaguely troubled eyes.
+
+"To see you; that's what I come for," Rosier repeated, feeling the
+intoxication of a rupture with authority.
+
+Pansy stood looking at him, simply, intently, openly; a blush was not
+needed to make her face more modest. "I thought it was for that."
+
+"And it was not disagreeable to you?"
+
+"I couldn't tell; I didn't know. You never told me," said Pansy.
+
+"I was afraid of offending you."
+
+"You don't offend me," the young girl murmured, smiling as if an angel
+had kissed her.
+
+"You like me then, Pansy?" Rosier asked very gently, feeling very happy.
+
+"Yes--I like you."
+
+They had walked to the chimney-piece where the big cold Empire clock
+was perched; they were well within the room and beyond observation from
+without. The tone in which she had said these four words seemed to him
+the very breath of nature, and his only answer could be to take her
+hand and hold it a moment. Then he raised it to his lips. She submitted,
+still with her pure, trusting smile, in which there was something
+ineffably passive. She liked him--she had liked him all the while; now
+anything might happen! She was ready--she had been ready always, waiting
+for him to speak. If he had not spoken she would have waited for ever;
+but when the word came she dropped like the peach from the shaken tree.
+Rosier felt that if he should draw her toward him and hold her to his
+heart she would submit without a murmur, would rest there without a
+question. It was true that this would be a rash experiment in a yellow
+Empire salottino. She had known it was for her he came, and yet like
+what a perfect little lady she had carried it off!
+
+"You're very dear to me," he murmured, trying to believe that there was
+after all such a thing as hospitality.
+
+She looked a moment at her hand, where he had kissed it. "Did you say
+papa knows?"
+
+"You told me just now he knows everything."
+
+"I think you must make sure," said Pansy.
+
+"Ah, my dear, when once I'm sure of YOU!" Rosier murmured in her ear;
+whereupon she turned back to the other rooms with a little air of
+consistency which seemed to imply that their appeal should be immediate.
+
+The other rooms meanwhile had become conscious of the arrival of Madame
+Merle, who, wherever she went, produced an impression when she entered.
+How she did it the most attentive spectator could not have told you, for
+she neither spoke loud, nor laughed profusely, nor moved rapidly, nor
+dressed with splendour, nor appealed in any appreciable manner to the
+audience. Large, fair, smiling, serene, there was something in her very
+tranquillity that diffused itself, and when people looked round it was
+because of a sudden quiet. On this occasion she had done the quietest
+thing she could do; after embracing Mrs. Osmond, which was more
+striking, she had sat down on a small sofa to commune with the master
+of the house. There was a brief exchange of commonplaces between these
+two--they always paid, in public, a certain formal tribute to the
+commonplace--and then Madame Merle, whose eyes had been wandering, asked
+if little Mr. Rosier had come this evening.
+
+"He came nearly an hour ago--but he has disappeared," Osmond said.
+
+"And where's Pansy?"
+
+"In the other room. There are several people there."
+
+"He's probably among them," said Madame Merle.
+
+"Do you wish to see him?" Osmond asked in a provokingly pointless tone.
+
+Madame Merle looked at him a moment; she knew each of his tones to the
+eighth of a note. "Yes, I should like to say to him that I've told you
+what he wants, and that it interests you but feebly."
+
+"Don't tell him that. He'll try to interest me more--which is exactly
+what I don't want. Tell him I hate his proposal."
+
+"But you don't hate it."
+
+"It doesn't signify; I don't love it. I let him see that, myself, this
+evening; I was rude to him on purpose. That sort of thing's a great
+bore. There's no hurry."
+
+"I'll tell him that you'll take time and think it over."
+
+"No, don't do that. He'll hang on."
+
+"If I discourage him he'll do the same."
+
+"Yes, but in the one case he'll try to talk and explain--which would be
+exceedingly tiresome. In the other he'll probably hold his tongue and go
+in for some deeper game. That will leave me quiet. I hate talking with a
+donkey."
+
+"Is that what you call poor Mr. Rosier?"
+
+"Oh, he's a nuisance--with his eternal majolica."
+
+Madame Merle dropped her eyes; she had a faint smile. "He's a gentleman,
+he has a charming temper; and, after all, an income of forty thousand
+francs!"
+
+"It's misery--'genteel' misery," Osmond broke in. "It's not what I've
+dreamed of for Pansy."
+
+"Very good then. He has promised me not to speak to her."
+
+"Do you believe him?" Osmond asked absentmindedly.
+
+"Perfectly. Pansy has thought a great deal about him; but I don't
+suppose you consider that that matters."
+
+"I don't consider it matters at all; but neither do I believe she has
+thought of him."
+
+"That opinion's more convenient," said Madame Merle quietly.
+
+"Has she told you she's in love with him?"
+
+"For what do you take her? And for what do you take me?" Madame Merle
+added in a moment.
+
+Osmond had raised his foot and was resting his slim ankle on the other
+knee; he clasped his ankle in his hand familiarly--his long, fine
+forefinger and thumb could make a ring for it--and gazed a while
+before him. "This kind of thing doesn't find me unprepared. It's what I
+educated her for. It was all for this--that when such a case should come
+up she should do what I prefer."
+
+"I'm not afraid that she'll not do it."
+
+"Well then, where's the hitch?"
+
+"I don't see any. But, all the same, I recommend you not to get rid of
+Mr. Rosier. Keep him on hand; he may be useful."
+
+"I can't keep him. Keep him yourself."
+
+"Very good; I'll put him into a corner and allow him so much a day."
+Madame Merle had, for the most part, while they talked, been glancing
+about her; it was her habit in this situation, just as it was her habit
+to interpose a good many blank-looking pauses. A long drop followed the
+last words I have quoted; and before it had ended she saw Pansy come out
+of the adjoining room, followed by Edward Rosier. The girl advanced a
+few steps and then stopped and stood looking at Madame Merle and at her
+father.
+
+"He has spoken to her," Madame Merle went on to Osmond.
+
+Her companion never turned his head. "So much for your belief in his
+promises. He ought to be horsewhipped."
+
+"He intends to confess, poor little man!"
+
+Osmond got up; he had now taken a sharp look at his daughter. "It
+doesn't matter," he murmured, turning away.
+
+Pansy after a moment came up to Madame Merle with her little manner
+of unfamiliar politeness. This lady's reception of her was not more
+intimate; she simply, as she rose from the sofa, gave her a friendly
+smile.
+
+"You're very late," the young creature gently said.
+
+"My dear child, I'm never later than I intend to be."
+
+Madame Merle had not got up to be gracious to Pansy; she moved toward
+Edward Rosier. He came to meet her and, very quickly, as if to get it
+off his mind, "I've spoken to her!" he whispered.
+
+"I know it, Mr. Rosier."
+
+"Did she tell you?"
+
+"Yes, she told me. Behave properly for the rest of the evening, and come
+and see me to-morrow at a quarter past five." She was severe, and in
+the manner in which she turned her back to him there was a degree of
+contempt which caused him to mutter a decent imprecation.
+
+He had no intention of speaking to Osmond; it was neither the time nor
+the place. But he instinctively wandered toward Isabel, who sat talking
+with an old lady. He sat down on the other side of her; the old lady
+was Italian, and Rosier took for granted she understood no English. "You
+said just now you wouldn't help me," he began to Mrs. Osmond. "Perhaps
+you'll feel differently when you know--when you know--!"
+
+Isabel met his hesitation. "When I know what?"
+
+"That she's all right."
+
+"What do you mean by that?"
+
+"Well, that we've come to an understanding."
+
+"She's all wrong," said Isabel. "It won't do."
+
+Poor Rosier gazed at her half-pleadingly, half-angrily; a sudden flush
+testified to his sense of injury. "I've never been treated so," he said.
+"What is there against me, after all? That's not the way I'm usually
+considered. I could have married twenty times."
+
+"It's a pity you didn't. I don't mean twenty times, but once,
+comfortably," Isabel added, smiling kindly. "You're not rich enough for
+Pansy."
+
+"She doesn't care a straw for one's money."
+
+"No, but her father does."
+
+"Ah yes, he has proved that!" cried the young man.
+
+Isabel got up, turning away from him, leaving her old lady without
+ceremony; and he occupied himself for the next ten minutes in pretending
+to look at Gilbert Osmond's collection of miniatures, which were neatly
+arranged on a series of small velvet screens. But he looked without
+seeing; his cheek burned; he was too full of his sense of injury. It was
+certain that he had never been treated that way before; he was not used
+to being thought not good enough. He knew how good he was, and if such
+a fallacy had not been so pernicious he could have laughed at it. He
+searched again for Pansy, but she had disappeared, and his main desire
+was now to get out of the house. Before doing so he spoke once more to
+Isabel; it was not agreeable to him to reflect that he had just said a
+rude thing to her--the only point that would now justify a low view of
+him.
+
+"I referred to Mr. Osmond as I shouldn't have done, a while ago," he
+began. "But you must remember my situation."
+
+"I don't remember what you said," she answered coldly.
+
+"Ah, you're offended, and now you'll never help me."
+
+She was silent an instant, and then with a change of tone: "It's not
+that I won't; I simply can't!" Her manner was almost passionate.
+
+"If you COULD, just a little, I'd never again speak of your husband save
+as an angel."
+
+"The inducement's great," said Isabel gravely--inscrutably, as he
+afterwards, to himself, called it; and she gave him, straight in the
+eyes, a look which was also inscrutable. It made him remember somehow
+that he had known her as a child; and yet it was keener than he liked,
+and he took himself off.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+He went to see Madame Merle on the morrow, and to his surprise she let
+him off rather easily. But she made him promise that he would stop
+there till something should have been decided. Mr. Osmond had had higher
+expectations; it was very true that as he had no intention of giving his
+daughter a portion such expectations were open to criticism or even, if
+one would, to ridicule. But she would advise Mr. Rosier not to take that
+tone; if he would possess his soul in patience he might arrive at his
+felicity. Mr. Osmond was not favourable to his suit, but it wouldn't be
+a miracle if he should gradually come round. Pansy would never defy
+her father, he might depend on that; so nothing was to be gained by
+precipitation. Mr. Osmond needed to accustom his mind to an offer of a
+sort that he had not hitherto entertained, and this result must come of
+itself--it was useless to try to force it. Rosier remarked that his own
+situation would be in the meanwhile the most uncomfortable in the world,
+and Madame Merle assured him that she felt for him. But, as she justly
+declared, one couldn't have everything one wanted; she had learned that
+lesson for herself. There would be no use in his writing to Gilbert
+Osmond, who had charged her to tell him as much. He wished the matter
+dropped for a few weeks and would himself write when he should have
+anything to communicate that it might please Mr. Rosier to hear.
+
+"He doesn't like your having spoken to Pansy, Ah, he doesn't like it at
+all," said Madame Merle.
+
+"I'm perfectly willing to give him a chance to tell me so!"
+
+"If you do that he'll tell you more than you care to hear. Go to the
+house, for the next month, as little as possible, and leave the rest to
+me."
+
+"As little as possible? Who's to measure the possibility?"
+
+"Let me measure it. Go on Thursday evenings with the rest of the world,
+but don't go at all at odd times, and don't fret about Pansy. I'll see
+that she understands everything. She's a calm little nature; she'll take
+it quietly."
+
+Edward Rosier fretted about Pansy a good deal, but he did as he was
+advised, and awaited another Thursday evening before returning to
+Palazzo Roccanera. There had been a party at dinner, so that though he
+went early the company was already tolerably numerous. Osmond, as usual,
+was in the first room, near the fire, staring straight at the door, so
+that, not to be distinctly uncivil, Rosier had to go and speak to him.
+
+"I'm glad that you can take a hint," Pansy's father said, slightly
+closing his keen, conscious eyes.
+
+"I take no hints. But I took a message, as I supposed it to be."
+
+"You took it? Where did you take it?"
+
+It seemed to poor Rosier he was being insulted, and he waited a moment,
+asking himself how much a true lover ought to submit to. "Madame Merle
+gave me, as I understood it, a message from you--to the effect that you
+declined to give me the opportunity I desire, the opportunity to explain
+my wishes to you." And he flattered himself he spoke rather sternly.
+
+"I don't see what Madame Merle has to do with it. Why did you apply to
+Madame Merle?"
+
+"I asked her for an opinion--for nothing more. I did so because she had
+seemed to me to know you very well."
+
+"She doesn't know me so well as she thinks," said Osmond.
+
+"I'm sorry for that, because she has given me some little ground for
+hope."
+
+Osmond stared into the fire a moment. "I set a great price on my
+daughter."
+
+"You can't set a higher one than I do. Don't I prove it by wishing to
+marry her?"
+
+"I wish to marry her very well," Osmond went on with a dry impertinence
+which, in another mood, poor Rosier would have admired.
+
+"Of course I pretend she'd marry well in marrying me. She couldn't
+marry a man who loves her more--or whom, I may venture to add, she loves
+more."
+
+"I'm not bound to accept your theories as to whom my daughter
+loves"--and Osmond looked up with a quick, cold smile.
+
+"I'm not theorising. Your daughter has spoken."
+
+"Not to me," Osmond continued, now bending forward a little and dropping
+his eyes to his boot-toes.
+
+"I have her promise, sir!" cried Rosier with the sharpness of
+exasperation.
+
+As their voices had been pitched very low before, such a note attracted
+some attention from the company. Osmond waited till this little movement
+had subsided; then he said, all undisturbed: "I think she has no
+recollection of having given it."
+
+They had been standing with their faces to the fire, and after he had
+uttered these last words the master of the house turned round again
+to the room. Before Rosier had time to reply he perceived that a
+gentleman--a stranger--had just come in, unannounced, according to the
+Roman custom, and was about to present himself to his host. The latter
+smiled blandly, but somewhat blankly; the visitor had a handsome face
+and a large, fair beard, and was evidently an Englishman.
+
+"You apparently don't recognise me," he said with a smile that expressed
+more than Osmond's.
+
+"Ah yes, now I do. I expected so little to see you."
+
+Rosier departed and went in direct pursuit of Pansy. He sought her, as
+usual, in the neighbouring room, but he again encountered Mrs. Osmond
+in his path. He gave his hostess no greeting--he was too righteously
+indignant, but said to her crudely: "Your husband's awfully
+cold-blooded."
+
+She gave the same mystical smile he had noticed before. "You can't
+expect every one to be as hot as yourself."
+
+"I don't pretend to be cold, but I'm cool. What has he been doing to his
+daughter?"
+
+"I've no idea."
+
+"Don't you take any interest?" Rosier demanded with his sense that she
+too was irritating.
+
+For a moment she answered nothing; then, "No!" she said abruptly and
+with a quickened light in her eyes which directly contradicted the word.
+
+"Pardon me if I don't believe that. Where's Miss Osmond?"
+
+"In the corner, making tea. Please leave her there."
+
+Rosier instantly discovered his friend, who had been hidden by
+intervening groups. He watched her, but her own attention was entirely
+given to her occupation. "What on earth has he done to her?" he asked
+again imploringly. "He declares to me she has given me up."
+
+"She has not given you up," Isabel said in a low tone and without
+looking at him.
+
+"Ah, thank you for that! Now I'll leave her alone as long as you think
+proper!"
+
+He had hardly spoken when he saw her change colour, and became aware
+that Osmond was coming toward her accompanied by the gentleman who had
+just entered. He judged the latter, in spite of the advantage of good
+looks and evident social experience, a little embarrassed. "Isabel,"
+said her husband, "I bring you an old friend."
+
+Mrs. Osmond's face, though it wore a smile, was, like her old friend's,
+not perfectly confident. "I'm very happy to see Lord Warburton," she
+said. Rosier turned away and, now that his talk with her had been
+interrupted, felt absolved from the little pledge he had just taken. He
+had a quick impression that Mrs. Osmond wouldn't notice what he did.
+
+Isabel in fact, to do him justice, for some time quite ceased to observe
+him. She had been startled; she hardly knew if she felt a pleasure or
+a pain. Lord Warburton, however, now that he was face to face with her,
+was plainly quite sure of his own sense of the matter; though his grey
+eyes had still their fine original property of keeping recognition and
+attestation strictly sincere. He was "heavier" than of yore and looked
+older; he stood there very solidly and sensibly.
+
+"I suppose you didn't expect to see me," he said; "I've but just
+arrived. Literally, I only got here this evening. You see I've lost
+no time in coming to pay you my respects. I knew you were at home on
+Thursdays."
+
+"You see the fame of your Thursdays has spread to England," Osmond
+remarked to his wife.
+
+"It's very kind of Lord Warburton to come so soon; we're greatly
+flattered," Isabel said.
+
+"Ah well, it's better than stopping in one of those horrible inns,"
+Osmond went on.
+
+"The hotel seems very good; I think it's the same at which I saw you
+four years since. You know it was here in Rome that we first met; it's a
+long time ago. Do you remember where I bade you good-bye?" his lordship
+asked of his hostess. "It was in the Capitol, in the first room."
+
+"I remember that myself," said Osmond. "I was there at the time."
+
+"Yes, I remember you there. I was very sorry to leave Rome--so sorry
+that, somehow or other, it became almost a dismal memory, and I've never
+cared to come back till to-day. But I knew you were living here," her
+old friend went on to Isabel, "and I assure you I've often thought of
+you. It must be a charming place to live in," he added with a look,
+round him, at her established home, in which she might have caught the
+dim ghost of his old ruefulness.
+
+"We should have been glad to see you at any time," Osmond observed with
+propriety.
+
+"Thank you very much. I haven't been out of England since then. Till a
+month ago I really supposed my travels over."
+
+"I've heard of you from time to time," said Isabel, who had already,
+with her rare capacity for such inward feats, taken the measure of what
+meeting him again meant for her.
+
+"I hope you've heard no harm. My life has been a remarkably complete
+blank."
+
+"Like the good reigns in history," Osmond suggested. He appeared to
+think his duties as a host now terminated--he had performed them so
+conscientiously. Nothing could have been more adequate, more
+nicely measured, than his courtesy to his wife's old friend. It
+was punctilious, it was explicit, it was everything but natural--a
+deficiency which Lord Warburton, who, himself, had on the whole a good
+deal of nature, may be supposed to have perceived. "I'll leave you and
+Mrs. Osmond together," he added. "You have reminiscences into which I
+don't enter."
+
+"I'm afraid you lose a good deal!" Lord Warburton called after him, as
+he moved away, in a tone which perhaps betrayed overmuch an appreciation
+of his generosity. Then the visitor turned on Isabel the deeper, the
+deepest, consciousness of his look, which gradually became more serious.
+"I'm really very glad to see you."
+
+"It's very pleasant. You're very kind."
+
+"Do you know that you're changed--a little?"
+
+She just hesitated. "Yes--a good deal."
+
+"I don't mean for the worse, of course; and yet how can I say for the
+better?"
+
+"I think I shall have no scruple in saying that to YOU," she bravely
+returned.
+
+"Ah well, for me--it's a long time. It would be a pity there shouldn't
+be something to show for it." They sat down and she asked him about
+his sisters, with other enquiries of a somewhat perfunctory kind. He
+answered her questions as if they interested him, and in a few moments
+she saw--or believed she saw--that he would press with less of his
+whole weight than of yore. Time had breathed upon his heart and, without
+chilling it, given it a relieved sense of having taken the air. Isabel
+felt her usual esteem for Time rise at a bound. Her friend's manner was
+certainly that of a contented man, one who would rather like people, or
+like her at least, to know him for such. "There's something I must tell
+you without more delay," he resumed. "I've brought Ralph Touchett with
+me."
+
+"Brought him with you?" Isabel's surprise was great.
+
+"He's at the hotel; he was too tired to come out and has gone to bed."
+
+"I'll go to see him," she immediately said.
+
+"That's exactly what I hoped you'd do. I had an idea you hadn't seen
+much of him since your marriage, that in fact your relations were a--a
+little more formal. That's why I hesitated--like an awkward Briton."
+
+"I'm as fond of Ralph as ever," Isabel answered. "But why has he come to
+Rome?" The declaration was very gentle, the question a little sharp.
+
+"Because he's very far gone, Mrs. Osmond."
+
+"Rome then is no place for him. I heard from him that he had determined
+to give up his custom of wintering abroad and to remain in England,
+indoors, in what he called an artificial climate."
+
+"Poor fellow, he doesn't succeed with the artificial! I went to see him
+three weeks ago, at Gardencourt, and found him thoroughly ill. He has
+been getting worse every year, and now he has no strength left. He
+smokes no more cigarettes! He had got up an artificial climate indeed;
+the house was as hot as Calcutta. Nevertheless he had suddenly taken it
+into his head to start for Sicily. I didn't believe in it--neither did
+the doctors, nor any of his friends. His mother, as I suppose you know,
+is in America, so there was no one to prevent him. He stuck to his idea
+that it would be the saving of him to spend the winter at Catania.
+He said he could take servants and furniture, could make himself
+comfortable, but in point of fact he hasn't brought anything. I wanted
+him at least to go by sea, to save fatigue; but he said he hated the sea
+and wished to stop at Rome. After that, though I thought it all rubbish,
+I made up my mind to come with him. I'm acting as--what do you call it
+in America?--as a kind of moderator. Poor Ralph's very moderate now. We
+left England a fortnight ago, and he has been very bad on the way. He
+can't keep warm, and the further south we come the more he feels the
+cold. He has got rather a good man, but I'm afraid he's beyond human
+help. I wanted him to take with him some clever fellow--I mean some
+sharp young doctor; but he wouldn't hear of it. If you don't mind my
+saying so, I think it was a most extraordinary time for Mrs. Touchett to
+decide on going to America."
+
+Isabel had listened eagerly; her face was full of pain and wonder. "My
+aunt does that at fixed periods and lets nothing turn her aside. When
+the date comes round she starts; I think she'd have started if Ralph had
+been dying."
+
+"I sometimes think he IS dying," Lord Warburton said.
+
+Isabel sprang up. "I'll go to him then now."
+
+He checked her; he was a little disconcerted at the quick effect of his
+words. "I don't mean I thought so to-night. On the contrary, to-day,
+in the train, he seemed particularly well; the idea of our reaching
+Rome--he's very fond of Rome, you know--gave him strength. An hour ago,
+when I bade him goodnight, he told me he was very tired, but very happy.
+Go to him in the morning; that's all I mean. I didn't tell him I was
+coming here; I didn't decide to till after we had separated. Then I
+remembered he had told me you had an evening, and that it was this very
+Thursday. It occurred to me to come in and tell you he's here, and let
+you know you had perhaps better not wait for him to call. I think he
+said he hadn't written to you." There was no need of Isabel's declaring
+that she would act upon Lord Warburton's information; she looked, as she
+sat there, like a winged creature held back. "Let alone that I wanted to
+see you for myself," her visitor gallantly added.
+
+"I don't understand Ralph's plan; it seems to me very wild," she said.
+"I was glad to think of him between those thick walls at Gardencourt."
+
+"He was completely alone there; the thick walls were his only company."
+
+"You went to see him; you've been extremely kind."
+
+"Oh dear, I had nothing to do," said Lord Warburton.
+
+"We hear, on the contrary, that you're doing great things. Every one
+speaks of you as a great statesman, and I'm perpetually seeing your name
+in the Times, which, by the way, doesn't appear to hold it in reverence.
+You're apparently as wild a radical as ever."
+
+"I don't feel nearly so wild; you know the world has come round to me.
+Touchett and I have kept up a sort of parliamentary debate all the way
+from London. I tell him he's the last of the Tories, and he calls me
+the King of the Goths--says I have, down to the details of my personal
+appearance, every sign of the brute. So you see there's life in him
+yet."
+
+Isabel had many questions to ask about Ralph, but she abstained from
+asking them all. She would see for herself on the morrow. She perceived
+that after a little Lord Warburton would tire of that subject--he had a
+conception of other possible topics. She was more and more able to say
+to herself that he had recovered, and, what is more to the point, she
+was able to say it without bitterness. He had been for her, of old,
+such an image of urgency, of insistence, of something to be resisted
+and reasoned with, that his reappearance at first menaced her with a new
+trouble. But she was now reassured; she could see he only wished to live
+with her on good terms, that she was to understand he had forgiven her
+and was incapable of the bad taste of making pointed allusions. This was
+not a form of revenge, of course; she had no suspicion of his wishing to
+punish her by an exhibition of disillusionment; she did him the justice
+to believe it had simply occurred to him that she would now take a
+good-natured interest in knowing he was resigned. It was the resignation
+of a healthy, manly nature, in which sentimental wounds could never
+fester. British politics had cured him; she had known they would. She
+gave an envious thought to the happier lot of men, who are always free
+to plunge into the healing waters of action. Lord Warburton of course
+spoke of the past, but he spoke of it without implications; he even
+went so far as to allude to their former meeting in Rome as a very jolly
+time. And he told her he had been immensely interested in hearing of her
+marriage and that it was a great pleasure for him to make Mr. Osmond's
+acquaintance--since he could hardly be said to have made it on the other
+occasion. He had not written to her at the time of that passage in her
+history, but he didn't apologise to her for this. The only thing he
+implied was that they were old friends, intimate friends. It was very
+much as an intimate friend that he said to her, suddenly, after a short
+pause which he had occupied in smiling, as he looked about him, like a
+person amused, at a provincial entertainment, by some innocent game of
+guesses--
+
+"Well now, I suppose you're very happy and all that sort of thing?"
+
+Isabel answered with a quick laugh; the tone of his remark struck her
+almost as the accent of comedy. "Do you suppose if I were not I'd tell
+you?"
+
+"Well, I don't know. I don't see why not."
+
+"I do then. Fortunately, however, I'm very happy."
+
+"You've got an awfully good house."
+
+"Yes, it's very pleasant. But that's not my merit--it's my husband's."
+
+"You mean he has arranged it?"
+
+"Yes, it was nothing when we came."
+
+"He must be very clever."
+
+"He has a genius for upholstery," said Isabel.
+
+"There's a great rage for that sort of thing now. But you must have a
+taste of your own."
+
+"I enjoy things when they're done, but I've no ideas. I can never
+propose anything."
+
+"Do you mean you accept what others propose?"
+
+"Very willingly, for the most part."
+
+"That's a good thing to know. I shall propose to you something."
+
+"It will be very kind. I must say, however, that I've in a few small
+ways a certain initiative. I should like for instance to introduce you
+to some of these people."
+
+"Oh, please don't; I prefer sitting here. Unless it be to that young
+lady in the blue dress. She has a charming face."
+
+"The one talking to the rosy young man? That's my husband's daughter."
+
+"Lucky man, your husband. What a dear little maid!"
+
+"You must make her acquaintance."
+
+"In a moment--with pleasure. I like looking at her from here." He ceased
+to look at her, however, very soon; his eyes constantly reverted to Mrs.
+Osmond. "Do you know I was wrong just now in saying you had changed?" he
+presently went on. "You seem to me, after all, very much the same."
+
+"And yet I find it a great change to be married," said Isabel with mild
+gaiety.
+
+"It affects most people more than it has affected you. You see I haven't
+gone in for that."
+
+"It rather surprises me."
+
+"You ought to understand it, Mrs. Osmond. But I do want to marry," he
+added more simply.
+
+"It ought to be very easy," Isabel said, rising--after which she
+reflected, with a pang perhaps too visible, that she was hardly the
+person to say this. It was perhaps because Lord Warburton divined the
+pang that he generously forbore to call her attention to her not having
+contributed then to the facility.
+
+Edward Rosier had meanwhile seated himself on an ottoman beside Pansy's
+tea-table. He pretended at first to talk to her about trifles, and she
+asked him who was the new gentleman conversing with her stepmother.
+
+"He's an English lord," said Rosier. "I don't know more."
+
+"I wonder if he'll have some tea. The English are so fond of tea."
+
+"Never mind that; I've something particular to say to you."
+
+"Don't speak so loud every one will hear," said Pansy.
+
+"They won't hear if you continue to look that way: as if your only
+thought in life was the wish the kettle would boil."
+
+"It has just been filled; the servants never know!"--and she sighed with
+the weight of her responsibility.
+
+"Do you know what your father said to me just now? That you didn't mean
+what you said a week ago."
+
+"I don't mean everything I say. How can a young girl do that? But I mean
+what I say to you."
+
+"He told me you had forgotten me."
+
+"Ah no, I don't forget," said Pansy, showing her pretty teeth in a fixed
+smile.
+
+"Then everything's just the very same?"
+
+"Ah no, not the very same. Papa has been terribly severe."
+
+"What has he done to you?"
+
+"He asked me what you had done to me, and I told him everything. Then he
+forbade me to marry you."
+
+"You needn't mind that."
+
+"Oh yes, I must indeed. I can't disobey papa."
+
+"Not for one who loves you as I do, and whom you pretend to love?"
+
+She raised the lid of the tea-pot, gazing into this vessel for a moment;
+then she dropped six words into its aromatic depths. "I love you just as
+much."
+
+"What good will that do me?"
+
+"Ah," said Pansy, raising her sweet, vague eyes, "I don't know that."
+
+"You disappoint me," groaned poor Rosier.
+
+She was silent a little; she handed a tea-cup to a servant. "Please
+don't talk any more."
+
+"Is this to be all my satisfaction?"
+
+"Papa said I was not to talk with you."
+
+"Do you sacrifice me like that? Ah, it's too much!"
+
+"I wish you'd wait a little," said the girl in a voice just distinct
+enough to betray a quaver.
+
+"Of course I'll wait if you'll give me hope. But you take my life away."
+
+"I'll not give you up--oh no!" Pansy went on.
+
+"He'll try and make you marry some one else."
+
+"I'll never do that."
+
+"What then are we to wait for?"
+
+She hesitated again. "I'll speak to Mrs. Osmond and she'll help us." It
+was in this manner that she for the most part designated her stepmother.
+
+"She won't help us much. She's afraid."
+
+"Afraid of what?"
+
+"Of your father, I suppose."
+
+Pansy shook her little head. "She's not afraid of any one. We must have
+patience."
+
+"Ah, that's an awful word," Rosier groaned; he was deeply disconcerted.
+Oblivious of the customs of good society, he dropped his head into his
+hands and, supporting it with a melancholy grace, sat staring at the
+carpet. Presently he became aware of a good deal of movement about
+him and, as he looked up, saw Pansy making a curtsey--it was still her
+little curtsey of the convent--to the English lord whom Mrs. Osmond had
+introduced.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+It will probably not surprise the reflective reader that Ralph Touchett
+should have seen less of his cousin since her marriage than he had done
+before that event--an event of which he took such a view as could hardly
+prove a confirmation of intimacy. He had uttered his thought, as we
+know, and after this had held his peace, Isabel not having invited him
+to resume a discussion which marked an era in their relations. That
+discussion had made a difference--the difference he feared rather than
+the one he hoped. It had not chilled the girl's zeal in carrying out her
+engagement, but it had come dangerously near to spoiling a friendship.
+No reference was ever again made between them to Ralph's opinion of
+Gilbert Osmond, and by surrounding this topic with a sacred silence they
+managed to preserve a semblance of reciprocal frankness. But there was a
+difference, as Ralph often said to himself--there was a difference. She
+had not forgiven him, she never would forgive him: that was all he had
+gained. She thought she had forgiven him; she believed she didn't care;
+and as she was both very generous and very proud these convictions
+represented a certain reality. But whether or no the event should
+justify him he would virtually have done her a wrong, and the wrong was
+of the sort that women remember best. As Osmond's wife she could never
+again be his friend. If in this character she should enjoy the felicity
+she expected, she would have nothing but contempt for the man who had
+attempted, in advance, to undermine a blessing so dear; and if on the
+other hand his warning should be justified the vow she had taken that he
+should never know it would lay upon her spirit such a burden as to make
+her hate him. So dismal had been, during the year that followed
+his cousin's marriage, Ralph's prevision of the future; and if his
+meditations appear morbid we must remember he was not in the bloom
+of health. He consoled himself as he might by behaving (as he deemed)
+beautifully, and was present at the ceremony by which Isabel was united
+to Mr. Osmond, and which was performed in Florence in the month of
+June. He learned from his mother that Isabel at first had thought of
+celebrating her nuptials in her native land, but that as simplicity was
+what she chiefly desired to secure she had finally decided, in spite
+of Osmond's professed willingness to make a journey of any length, that
+this characteristic would be best embodied in their being married by the
+nearest clergyman in the shortest time. The thing was done therefore at
+the little American chapel, on a very hot day, in the presence only of
+Mrs. Touchett and her son, of Pansy Osmond and the Countess Gemini. That
+severity in the proceedings of which I just spoke was in part the result
+of the absence of two persons who might have been looked for on the
+occasion and who would have lent it a certain richness. Madame Merle
+had been invited, but Madame Merle, who was unable to leave Rome, had
+written a gracious letter of excuses. Henrietta Stackpole had not been
+invited, as her departure from America, announced to Isabel by Mr.
+Goodwood, was in fact frustrated by the duties of her profession; but
+she had sent a letter, less gracious than Madame Merle's, intimating
+that, had she been able to cross the Atlantic, she would have been
+present not only as a witness but as a critic. Her return to Europe had
+taken place somewhat later, and she had effected a meeting with Isabel
+in the autumn, in Paris, when she had indulged--perhaps a trifle too
+freely--her critical genius. Poor Osmond, who was chiefly the subject
+of it, had protested so sharply that Henrietta was obliged to declare to
+Isabel that she had taken a step which put a barrier between them. "It
+isn't in the least that you've married--it is that you have married
+HIM," she had deemed it her duty to remark; agreeing, it will be seen,
+much more with Ralph Touchett than she suspected, though she had few of
+his hesitations and compunctions. Henrietta's second visit to Europe,
+however, was not apparently to have been made in vain; for just at the
+moment when Osmond had declared to Isabel that he really must object to
+that newspaper-woman, and Isabel had answered that it seemed to her he
+took Henrietta too hard, the good Mr. Bantling had appeared upon
+the scene and proposed that they should take a run down to Spain.
+Henrietta's letters from Spain had proved the most acceptable she
+had yet published, and there had been one in especial, dated from the
+Alhambra and entitled 'Moors and Moonlight,' which generally passed for
+her masterpiece. Isabel had been secretly disappointed at her husband's
+not seeing his way simply to take the poor girl for funny. She even
+wondered if his sense of fun, or of the funny--which would be his sense
+of humour, wouldn't it?--were by chance defective. Of course she herself
+looked at the matter as a person whose present happiness had nothing
+to grudge to Henrietta's violated conscience. Osmond had thought their
+alliance a kind of monstrosity; he couldn't imagine what they had in
+common. For him, Mr. Bantling's fellow tourist was simply the most
+vulgar of women, and he had also pronounced her the most abandoned.
+Against this latter clause of the verdict Isabel had appealed with an
+ardour that had made him wonder afresh at the oddity of some of his
+wife's tastes. Isabel could explain it only by saying that she liked to
+know people who were as different as possible from herself. "Why
+then don't you make the acquaintance of your washerwoman?" Osmond
+had enquired; to which Isabel had answered that she was afraid her
+washerwoman wouldn't care for her. Now Henrietta cared so much.
+
+Ralph had seen nothing of her for the greater part of the two years that
+had followed her marriage; the winter that formed the beginning of her
+residence in Rome he had spent again at San Remo, where he had been
+joined in the spring by his mother, who afterwards had gone with him
+to England, to see what they were doing at the bank--an operation she
+couldn't induce him to perform. Ralph had taken a lease of his house at
+San Remo, a small villa which he had occupied still another winter; but
+late in the month of April of this second year he had come down to Rome.
+It was the first time since her marriage that he had stood face to face
+with Isabel; his desire to see her again was then of the keenest. She
+had written to him from time to time, but her letters told him nothing
+he wanted to know. He had asked his mother what she was making of her
+life, and his mother had simply answered that she supposed she was
+making the best of it. Mrs. Touchett had not the imagination that
+communes with the unseen, and she now pretended to no intimacy with
+her niece, whom she rarely encountered. This young woman appeared to
+be living in a sufficiently honourable way, but Mrs. Touchett still
+remained of the opinion that her marriage had been a shabby affair. It
+had given her no pleasure to think of Isabel's establishment, which she
+was sure was a very lame business. From time to time, in Florence, she
+rubbed against the Countess Gemini, doing her best always to minimise
+the contact; and the Countess reminded her of Osmond, who made her
+think of Isabel. The Countess was less talked of in these days; but Mrs.
+Touchett augured no good of that: it only proved how she had been talked
+of before. There was a more direct suggestion of Isabel in the person
+of Madame Merle; but Madame Merle's relations with Mrs. Touchett had
+undergone a perceptible change. Isabel's aunt had told her, without
+circumlocution, that she had played too ingenious a part; and Madame
+Merle, who never quarrelled with any one, who appeared to think no one
+worth it, and who had performed the miracle of living, more or less,
+for several years with Mrs. Touchett and showing no symptom of
+irritation--Madame Merle now took a very high tone and declared that
+this was an accusation from which she couldn't stoop to defend herself.
+She added, however (without stooping), that her behaviour had been only
+too simple, that she had believed only what she saw, that she saw Isabel
+was not eager to marry and Osmond not eager to please (his repeated
+visits had been nothing; he was boring himself to death on his hill-top
+and he came merely for amusement). Isabel had kept her sentiments to
+herself, and her journey to Greece and Egypt had effectually thrown
+dust in her companion's eyes. Madame Merle accepted the event--she was
+unprepared to think of it as a scandal; but that she had played any part
+in it, double or single, was an imputation against which she proudly
+protested. It was doubtless in consequence of Mrs. Touchett's attitude,
+and of the injury it offered to habits consecrated by many charming
+seasons, that Madame Merle had, after this, chosen to pass many months
+in England, where her credit was quite unimpaired. Mrs. Touchett had
+done her a wrong; there are some things that can't be forgiven. But
+Madame Merle suffered in silence; there was always something exquisite
+in her dignity.
+
+Ralph, as I say, had wished to see for himself; but while engaged in
+this pursuit he had yet felt afresh what a fool he had been to put the
+girl on her guard. He had played the wrong card, and now he had lost the
+game. He should see nothing, he should learn nothing; for him she would
+always wear a mask. His true line would have been to profess delight in
+her union, so that later, when, as Ralph phrased it, the bottom should
+fall out of it, she might have the pleasure of saying to him that he
+had been a goose. He would gladly have consented to pass for a goose in
+order to know Isabel's real situation. At present, however, she neither
+taunted him with his fallacies nor pretended that her own confidence was
+justified; if she wore a mask it completely covered her face. There was
+something fixed and mechanical in the serenity painted on it; this was
+not an expression, Ralph said--it was a representation, it was even an
+advertisement. She had lost her child; that was a sorrow, but it was a
+sorrow she scarcely spoke of; there was more to say about it than she
+could say to Ralph. It belonged to the past, moreover; it had occurred
+six months before and she had already laid aside the tokens of mourning.
+She appeared to be leading the life of the world; Ralph heard her spoken
+of as having a "charming position." He observed that she produced the
+impression of being peculiarly enviable, that it was supposed, among
+many people, to be a privilege even to know her. Her house was not open
+to every one, and she had an evening in the week to which people
+were not invited as a matter of course. She lived with a certain
+magnificence, but you needed to be a member of her circle to perceive
+it; for there was nothing to gape at, nothing to criticise, nothing even
+to admire, in the daily proceedings of Mr. and Mrs. Osmond. Ralph, in
+all this, recognised the hand of the master; for he knew that Isabel had
+no faculty for producing studied impressions. She struck him as having
+a great love of movement, of gaiety, of late hours, of long rides, of
+fatigue; an eagerness to be entertained, to be interested, even to be
+bored, to make acquaintances, to see people who were talked about, to
+explore the neighbourhood of Rome, to enter into relation with certain
+of the mustiest relics of its old society. In all this there was
+much less discrimination than in that desire for comprehensiveness of
+development on which he had been used to exercise his wit. There was
+a kind of violence in some of her impulses, of crudity in some of her
+experiments, which took him by surprise: it seemed to him that she even
+spoke faster, moved faster, breathed faster, than before her marriage.
+Certainly she had fallen into exaggerations--she who used to care so
+much for the pure truth; and whereas of old she had a great delight
+in good-humoured argument, in intellectual play (she never looked
+so charming as when in the genial heat of discussion she received a
+crushing blow full in the face and brushed it away as a feather), she
+appeared now to think there was nothing worth people's either differing
+about or agreeing upon. Of old she had been curious, and now she was
+indifferent, and yet in spite of her indifference her activity was
+greater than ever. Slender still, but lovelier than before, she had
+gained no great maturity of aspect; yet there was an amplitude and a
+brilliancy in her personal arrangements that gave a touch of insolence
+to her beauty. Poor human-hearted Isabel, what perversity had bitten
+her? Her light step drew a mass of drapery behind it; her intelligent
+head sustained a majesty of ornament. The free, keen girl had become
+quite another person; what he saw was the fine lady who was supposed to
+represent something. What did Isabel represent? Ralph asked himself;
+and he could only answer by saying that she represented Gilbert Osmond.
+"Good heavens, what a function!" he then woefully exclaimed. He was lost
+in wonder at the mystery of things.
+
+He recognised Osmond, as I say; he recognised him at every turn. He
+saw how he kept all things within limits; how he adjusted, regulated,
+animated their manner of life. Osmond was in his element; at last he had
+material to work with. He always had an eye to effect, and his effects
+were deeply calculated. They were produced by no vulgar means, but the
+motive was as vulgar as the art was great. To surround his interior
+with a sort of invidious sanctity, to tantalise society with a sense
+of exclusion, to make people believe his house was different from every
+other, to impart to the face that he presented to the world a cold
+originality--this was the ingenious effort of the personage to whom
+Isabel had attributed a superior morality. "He works with superior
+material," Ralph said to himself; "it's rich abundance compared with his
+former resources." Ralph was a clever man; but Ralph had never--to his
+own sense--been so clever as when he observed, in petto, that under the
+guise of caring only for intrinsic values Osmond lived exclusively for
+the world. Far from being its master as he pretended to be, he was
+its very humble servant, and the degree of its attention was his only
+measure of success. He lived with his eye on it from morning till night,
+and the world was so stupid it never suspected the trick. Everything
+he did was pose--pose so subtly considered that if one were not on the
+lookout one mistook it for impulse. Ralph had never met a man who lived
+so much in the land of consideration. His tastes, his studies, his
+accomplishments, his collections, were all for a purpose. His life on
+his hill-top at Florence had been the conscious attitude of years. His
+solitude, his ennui, his love for his daughter, his good manners, his
+bad manners, were so many features of a mental image constantly present
+to him as a model of impertinence and mystification. His ambition was
+not to please the world, but to please himself by exciting the world's
+curiosity and then declining to satisfy it. It had made him feel great,
+ever, to play the world a trick. The thing he had done in his life most
+directly to please himself was his marrying Miss Archer; though in this
+case indeed the gullible world was in a manner embodied in poor Isabel,
+who had been mystified to the top of her bent. Ralph of course found
+a fitness in being consistent; he had embraced a creed, and as he had
+suffered for it he could not in honour forsake it. I give this little
+sketch of its articles for what they may at the time have been worth.
+It was certain that he was very skilful in fitting the facts to his
+theory--even the fact that during the month he spent in Rome at this
+period the husband of the woman he loved appeared to regard him not in
+the least as an enemy.
+
+For Gilbert Osmond Ralph had not now that importance. It was not that he
+had the importance of a friend; it was rather that he had none at all.
+He was Isabel's cousin and he was rather unpleasantly ill--it was on
+this basis that Osmond treated with him. He made the proper enquiries,
+asked about his health, about Mrs. Touchett, about his opinion of winter
+climates, whether he were comfortable at his hotel. He addressed him, on
+the few occasions of their meeting, not a word that was not necessary;
+but his manner had always the urbanity proper to conscious success in
+the presence of conscious failure. For all this, Ralph had had, toward
+the end, a sharp inward vision of Osmond's making it of small ease to
+his wife that she should continue to receive Mr. Touchett. He was not
+jealous--he had not that excuse; no one could be jealous of Ralph. But
+he made Isabel pay for her old-time kindness, of which so much was
+still left; and as Ralph had no idea of her paying too much, so when his
+suspicion had become sharp, he had taken himself off. In doing so he
+had deprived Isabel of a very interesting occupation: she had been
+constantly wondering what fine principle was keeping him alive. She had
+decided that it was his love of conversation; his conversation had been
+better than ever. He had given up walking; he was no longer a humorous
+stroller. He sat all day in a chair--almost any chair would serve, and
+was so dependent on what you would do for him that, had not his talk
+been highly contemplative, you might have thought he was blind. The
+reader already knows more about him than Isabel was ever to know, and
+the reader may therefore be given the key to the mystery. What kept
+Ralph alive was simply the fact that he had not yet seen enough of
+the person in the world in whom he was most interested: he was not yet
+satisfied. There was more to come; he couldn't make up his mind to lose
+that. He wanted to see what she would make of her husband--or what her
+husband would make of her. This was only the first act of the drama, and
+he was determined to sit out the performance. His determination had held
+good; it had kept him going some eighteen months more, till the time of
+his return to Rome with Lord Warburton. It had given him indeed such an
+air of intending to live indefinitely that Mrs. Touchett, though more
+accessible to confusions of thought in the matter of this strange,
+unremunerative--and unremunerated--son of hers than she had ever been
+before, had, as we have learned, not scrupled to embark for a distant
+land. If Ralph had been kept alive by suspense it was with a good deal
+of the same emotion--the excitement of wondering in what state she
+should find him--that Isabel mounted to his apartment the day after Lord
+Warburton had notified her of his arrival in Rome.
+
+She spent an hour with him; it was the first of several visits. Gilbert
+Osmond called on him punctually, and on their sending their carriage for
+him Ralph came more than once to Palazzo Roccanera. A fortnight elapsed,
+at the end of which Ralph announced to Lord Warburton that he thought
+after all he wouldn't go to Sicily. The two men had been dining together
+after a day spent by the latter in ranging about the Campagna. They had
+left the table, and Warburton, before the chimney, was lighting a cigar,
+which he instantly removed from his lips.
+
+"Won't go to Sicily? Where then will you go?"
+
+"Well, I guess I won't go anywhere," said Ralph, from the sofa, all
+shamelessly.
+
+"Do you mean you'll return to England?"
+
+"Oh dear no; I'll stay in Rome."
+
+"Rome won't do for you. Rome's not warm enough."
+
+"It will have to do. I'll make it do. See how well I've been."
+
+Lord Warburton looked at him a while, puffing a cigar and as if trying
+to see it. "You've been better than you were on the journey, certainly.
+I wonder how you lived through that. But I don't understand your
+condition. I recommend you to try Sicily."
+
+"I can't try," said poor Ralph. "I've done trying. I can't move further.
+I can't face that journey. Fancy me between Scylla and Charybdis! I
+don't want to die on the Sicilian plains--to be snatched away, like
+Proserpine in the same locality, to the Plutonian shades."
+
+"What the deuce then did you come for?" his lordship enquired.
+
+"Because the idea took me. I see it won't do. It really doesn't
+matter where I am now. I've exhausted all remedies, I've swallowed
+all climates. As I'm here I'll stay. I haven't a single cousin in
+Sicily--much less a married one."
+
+"Your cousin's certainly an inducement. But what does the doctor say?"
+
+"I haven't asked him, and I don't care a fig. If I die here Mrs. Osmond
+will bury me. But I shall not die here."
+
+"I hope not." Lord Warburton continued to smoke reflectively. "Well,
+I must say," he resumed, "for myself I'm very glad you don't insist on
+Sicily. I had a horror of that journey."
+
+"Ah, but for you it needn't have mattered. I had no idea of dragging you
+in my train."
+
+"I certainly didn't mean to let you go alone."
+
+"My dear Warburton, I never expected you to come further than this,"
+Ralph cried.
+
+"I should have gone with you and seen you settled," said Lord Warburton.
+
+"You're a very good Christian. You're a very kind man."
+
+"Then I should have come back here."
+
+"And then you'd have gone to England."
+
+"No, no; I should have stayed."
+
+"Well," said Ralph, "if that's what we are both up to, I don't see where
+Sicily comes in!"
+
+His companion was silent; he sat staring at the fire. At last, looking
+up, "I say, tell me this," he broke out; "did you really mean to go to
+Sicily when we started?"
+
+"Ah, vous m'en demandez trop! Let me put a question first. Did you come
+with me quite--platonically?"
+
+"I don't know what you mean by that. I wanted to come abroad."
+
+"I suspect we've each been playing our little game."
+
+"Speak for yourself. I made no secret whatever of my desiring to be here
+a while."
+
+"Yes, I remember you said you wished to see the Minister of Foreign
+Affairs."
+
+"I've seen him three times. He's very amusing."
+
+"I think you've forgotten what you came for," said Ralph.
+
+"Perhaps I have," his companion answered rather gravely.
+
+These two were gentlemen of a race which is not distinguished by the
+absence of reserve, and they had travelled together from London to Rome
+without an allusion to matters that were uppermost in the mind of each.
+There was an old subject they had once discussed, but it had lost its
+recognised place in their attention, and even after their arrival
+in Rome, where many things led back to it, they had kept the same
+half-diffident, half-confident silence.
+
+"I recommend you to get the doctor's consent, all the same," Lord
+Warburton went on, abruptly, after an interval.
+
+"The doctor's consent will spoil it. I never have it when I can help
+it."
+
+"What then does Mrs. Osmond think?" Ralph's friend demanded. "I've not
+told her. She'll probably say that Rome's too cold and even offer to go
+with me to Catania. She's capable of that."
+
+"In your place I should like it."
+
+"Her husband won't like it."
+
+"Ah well, I can fancy that; though it seems to me you're not bound to
+mind his likings. They're his affair."
+
+"I don't want to make any more trouble between them," said Ralph.
+
+"Is there so much already?"
+
+"There's complete preparation for it. Her going off with me would make
+the explosion. Osmond isn't fond of his wife's cousin."
+
+"Then of course he'd make a row. But won't he make a row if you stop
+here?"
+
+"That's what I want to see. He made one the last time I was in Rome, and
+then I thought it my duty to disappear. Now I think it's my duty to stop
+and defend her."
+
+"My dear Touchett, your defensive powers--!" Lord Warburton began with
+a smile. But he saw something in his companion's face that checked him.
+"Your duty, in these premises, seems to me rather a nice question," he
+observed instead.
+
+Ralph for a short time answered nothing. "It's true that my defensive
+powers are small," he returned at last; "but as my aggressive ones are
+still smaller Osmond may after all not think me worth his gunpowder. At
+any rate," he added, "there are things I'm curious to see."
+
+"You're sacrificing your health to your curiosity then?"
+
+"I'm not much interested in my health, and I'm deeply interested in Mrs.
+Osmond."
+
+"So am I. But not as I once was," Lord Warburton added quickly. This was
+one of the allusions he had not hitherto found occasion to make.
+
+"Does she strike you as very happy?" Ralph enquired, emboldened by this
+confidence.
+
+"Well, I don't know; I've hardly thought. She told me the other night
+she was happy."
+
+"Ah, she told YOU, of course," Ralph exclaimed, smiling.
+
+"I don't know that. It seems to me I was rather the sort of person she
+might have complained to."
+
+"Complained? She'll never complain. She has done it--what she HAS
+done--and she knows it. She'll complain to you least of all. She's very
+careful."
+
+"She needn't be. I don't mean to make love to her again."
+
+"I'm delighted to hear it. There can be no doubt at least of YOUR duty."
+
+"Ah no," said Lord Warburton gravely; "none!"
+
+"Permit me to ask," Ralph went on, "whether it's to bring out the fact
+that you don't mean to make love to her that you're so very civil to the
+little girl?"
+
+Lord Warburton gave a slight start; he got up and stood before the fire,
+looking at it hard. "Does that strike you as very ridiculous?"
+
+"Ridiculous? Not in the least, if you really like her."
+
+"I think her a delightful little person. I don't know when a girl of
+that age has pleased me more."
+
+"She's a charming creature. Ah, she at least is genuine."
+
+"Of course there's the difference in our ages--more than twenty years."
+
+"My dear Warburton," said Ralph, "are you serious?"
+
+"Perfectly serious--as far as I've got."
+
+"I'm very glad. And, heaven help us," cried Ralph, "how cheered-up old
+Osmond will be!"
+
+His companion frowned. "I say, don't spoil it. I shouldn't propose for
+his daughter to please HIM."
+
+"He'll have the perversity to be pleased all the same."
+
+"He's not so fond of me as that," said his lordship.
+
+"As that? My dear Warburton, the drawback of your position is that
+people needn't be fond of you at all to wish to be connected with you.
+Now, with me in such a case, I should have the happy confidence that
+they loved me."
+
+Lord Warburton seemed scarcely in the mood for doing justice to general
+axioms--he was thinking of a special case. "Do you judge she'll be
+pleased?"
+
+"The girl herself? Delighted, surely."
+
+"No, no; I mean Mrs. Osmond."
+
+Ralph looked at him a moment. "My dear fellow, what has she to do with
+it?"
+
+"Whatever she chooses. She's very fond of Pansy."
+
+"Very true--very true." And Ralph slowly got up. "It's an interesting
+question--how far her fondness for Pansy will carry her." He stood there
+a moment with his hands in his pockets and rather a clouded brow. "I
+hope, you know, that you're very--very sure. The deuce!" he broke off.
+"I don't know how to say it."
+
+"Yes, you do; you know how to say everything."
+
+"Well, it's awkward. I hope you're sure that among Miss Osmond's merits
+her being--a--so near her stepmother isn't a leading one?"
+
+"Good heavens, Touchett!" cried Lord Warburton angrily, "for what do you
+take me?"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL
+
+Isabel had not seen much of Madame Merle since her marriage, this lady
+having indulged in frequent absences from Rome. At one time she had
+spent six months in England; at another she had passed a portion of a
+winter in Paris. She had made numerous visits to distant friends and
+gave countenance to the idea that for the future she should be a less
+inveterate Roman than in the past. As she had been inveterate in the
+past only in the sense of constantly having an apartment in one of
+the sunniest niches of the Pincian--an apartment which often stood
+empty--this suggested a prospect of almost constant absence; a
+danger which Isabel at one period had been much inclined to deplore.
+Familiarity had modified in some degree her first impression of Madame
+Merle, but it had not essentially altered it; there was still much
+wonder of admiration in it. That personage was armed at all points; it
+was a pleasure to see a character so completely equipped for the social
+battle. She carried her flag discreetly, but her weapons were polished
+steel, and she used them with a skill which struck Isabel as more
+and more that of a veteran. She was never weary, never overcome with
+disgust; she never appeared to need rest or consolation. She had her own
+ideas; she had of old exposed a great many of them to Isabel, who
+knew also that under an appearance of extreme self-control her
+highly-cultivated friend concealed a rich sensibility. But her will was
+mistress of her life; there was something gallant in the way she kept
+going. It was as if she had learned the secret of it--as if the art of
+life were some clever trick she had guessed. Isabel, as she herself grew
+older, became acquainted with revulsions, with disgusts; there were days
+when the world looked black and she asked herself with some sharpness
+what it was that she was pretending to live for. Her old habit had
+been to live by enthusiasm, to fall in love with suddenly-perceived
+possibilities, with the idea of some new adventure. As a younger person
+she had been used to proceed from one little exaltation to the other:
+there were scarcely any dull places between. But Madame Merle had
+suppressed enthusiasm; she fell in love now-a-days with nothing; she
+lived entirely by reason and by wisdom. There were hours when Isabel
+would have given anything for lessons in this art; if her brilliant
+friend had been near she would have made an appeal to her. She had
+become aware more than before of the advantage of being like that--of
+having made one's self a firm surface, a sort of corselet of silver.
+
+But, as I say, it was not till the winter during which we lately renewed
+acquaintance with our heroine that the personage in question made again
+a continuous stay in Rome. Isabel now saw more of her than she had done
+since her marriage; but by this time Isabel's needs and inclinations
+had considerably changed. It was not at present to Madame Merle that she
+would have applied for instruction; she had lost the desire to know this
+lady's clever trick. If she had troubles she must keep them to herself,
+and if life was difficult it would not make it easier to confess herself
+beaten. Madame Merle was doubtless of great use to herself and an
+ornament to any circle; but was she--would she be--of use to others
+in periods of refined embarrassment? The best way to profit by her
+friend--this indeed Isabel had always thought--was to imitate her, to be
+as firm and bright as she. She recognised no embarrassments, and Isabel,
+considering this fact, determined for the fiftieth time to brush aside
+her own. It seemed to her too, on the renewal of an intercourse which
+had virtually been interrupted, that her old ally was different, was
+almost detached--pushing to the extreme a certain rather artificial fear
+of being indiscreet. Ralph Touchett, we know, had been of the opinion
+that she was prone to exaggeration, to forcing the note--was apt, in the
+vulgar phrase, to overdo it. Isabel had never admitted this charge--had
+never indeed quite understood it; Madame Merle's conduct, to her
+perception, always bore the stamp of good taste, was always "quiet."
+But in this matter of not wishing to intrude upon the inner life of the
+Osmond family it at last occurred to our young woman that she overdid a
+little. That of course was not the best taste; that was rather violent.
+She remembered too much that Isabel was married; that she had now other
+interests; that though she, Madame Merle, had known Gilbert Osmond and
+his little Pansy very well, better almost than any one, she was not
+after all of the inner circle. She was on her guard; she never spoke of
+their affairs till she was asked, even pressed--as when her opinion was
+wanted; she had a dread of seeming to meddle. Madame Merle was as candid
+as we know, and one day she candidly expressed this dread to Isabel.
+
+"I MUST be on my guard," she said; "I might so easily, without
+suspecting it, offend you. You would be right to be offended, even if my
+intention should have been of the purest. I must not forget that I knew
+your husband long before you did; I must not let that betray me. If you
+were a silly woman you might be jealous. You're not a silly woman; I
+know that perfectly. But neither am I; therefore I'm determined not
+to get into trouble. A little harm's very soon done; a mistake's made
+before one knows it. Of course if I had wished to make love to your
+husband I had ten years to do it in, and nothing to prevent; so it isn't
+likely I shall begin to-day, when I'm so much less attractive than I
+was. But if I were to annoy you by seeming to take a place that doesn't
+belong to me, you wouldn't make that reflection; you'd simply say I
+was forgetting certain differences. I'm determined not to forget them.
+Certainly a good friend isn't always thinking of that; one doesn't
+suspect one's friends of injustice. I don't suspect you, my dear, in
+the least; but I suspect human nature. Don't think I make myself
+uncomfortable; I'm not always watching myself. I think I sufficiently
+prove it in talking to you as I do now. All I wish to say is, however,
+that if you were to be jealous--that's the form it would take--I should
+be sure to think it was a little my fault. It certainly wouldn't be your
+husband's."
+
+Isabel had had three years to think over Mrs. Touchett's theory that
+Madame Merle had made Gilbert Osmond's marriage. We know how she had
+at first received it. Madame Merle might have made Gilbert Osmond's
+marriage, but she certainly had not made Isabel Archer's. That was the
+work of--Isabel scarcely knew what: of nature, providence, fortune, of
+the eternal mystery of things. It was true her aunt's complaint had
+been not so much of Madame Merle's activity as of her duplicity: she had
+brought about the strange event and then she had denied her guilt. Such
+guilt would not have been great, to Isabel's mind; she couldn't make
+a crime of Madame Merle's having been the producing cause of the most
+important friendship she had ever formed. This had occurred to her just
+before her marriage, after her little discussion with her aunt and at a
+time when she was still capable of that large inward reference, the
+tone almost of the philosophic historian, to her scant young annals. If
+Madame Merle had desired her change of state she could only say it had
+been a very happy thought. With her, moreover, she had been perfectly
+straightforward; she had never concealed her high opinion of Gilbert
+Osmond. After their union Isabel discovered that her husband took a less
+convenient view of the matter; he seldom consented to finger, in talk,
+this roundest and smoothest bead of their social rosary. "Don't you like
+Madame Merle?" Isabel had once said to him. "She thinks a great deal of
+you."
+
+"I'll tell you once for all," Osmond had answered. "I liked her once
+better than I do to-day. I'm tired of her, and I'm rather ashamed of it.
+She's so almost unnaturally good! I'm glad she's not in Italy; it makes
+for relaxation--for a sort of moral detente. Don't talk of her too much;
+it seems to bring her back. She'll come back in plenty of time."
+
+Madame Merle, in fact, had come back before it was too late--too late,
+I mean, to recover whatever advantage she might have lost. But meantime,
+if, as I have said, she was sensibly different, Isabel's feelings were
+also not quite the same. Her consciousness of the situation was as
+acute as of old, but it was much less satisfying. A dissatisfied mind,
+whatever else it may miss, is rarely in want of reasons; they bloom as
+thick as buttercups in June. The fact of Madame Merle's having had a
+hand in Gilbert Osmond's marriage ceased to be one of her titles to
+consideration; it might have been written, after all, that there was not
+so much to thank her for. As time went on there was less and less, and
+Isabel once said to herself that perhaps without her these things would
+not have been. That reflection indeed was instantly stifled; she knew an
+immediate horror at having made it. "Whatever happens to me let me not
+be unjust," she said; "let me bear my burdens myself and not shift them
+upon others!" This disposition was tested, eventually, by that ingenious
+apology for her present conduct which Madame Merle saw fit to make
+and of which I have given a sketch; for there was something
+irritating--there was almost an air of mockery--in her neat
+discriminations and clear convictions. In Isabel's mind to-day there
+was nothing clear; there was a confusion of regrets, a complication of
+fears. She felt helpless as she turned away from her friend, who had
+just made the statements I have quoted: Madame Merle knew so little
+what she was thinking of! She was herself moreover so unable to
+explain. Jealous of her--jealous of her with Gilbert? The idea just then
+suggested no near reality. She almost wished jealousy had been possible;
+it would have made in a manner for refreshment. Wasn't it in a manner
+one of the symptoms of happiness? Madame Merle, however, was wise, so
+wise that she might have been pretending to know Isabel better than
+Isabel knew herself. This young woman had always been fertile in
+resolutions--any of them of an elevated character; but at no period had
+they flourished (in the privacy of her heart) more richly than to-day.
+It is true that they all had a family likeness; they might have been
+summed up in the determination that if she was to be unhappy it should
+not be by a fault of her own. Her poor winged spirit had always had
+a great desire to do its best, and it had not as yet been seriously
+discouraged. It wished, therefore, to hold fast to justice--not to
+pay itself by petty revenges. To associate Madame Merle with its
+disappointment would be a petty revenge--especially as the pleasure to
+be derived from that would be perfectly insincere. It might feed
+her sense of bitterness, but it would not loosen her bonds. It was
+impossible to pretend that she had not acted with her eyes open; if ever
+a girl was a free agent she had been. A girl in love was doubtless not a
+free agent; but the sole source of her mistake had been within herself.
+There had been no plot, no snare; she had looked and considered and
+chosen. When a woman had made such a mistake, there was only one way to
+repair it--just immensely (oh, with the highest grandeur!) to accept it.
+One folly was enough, especially when it was to last for ever; a second
+one would not much set it off. In this vow of reticence there was a
+certain nobleness which kept Isabel going; but Madame Merle had been
+right, for all that, in taking her precautions.
+
+One day about a month after Ralph Touchett's arrival in Rome Isabel
+came back from a walk with Pansy. It was not only a part of her general
+determination to be just that she was at present very thankful for
+Pansy--it was also a part of her tenderness for things that were pure
+and weak. Pansy was dear to her, and there was nothing else in her
+life that had the rightness of the young creature's attachment or
+the sweetness of her own clearness about it. It was like a soft
+presence--like a small hand in her own; on Pansy's part it was more than
+an affection--it was a kind of ardent coercive faith. On her own side
+her sense of the girl's dependence was more than a pleasure; it operated
+as a definite reason when motives threatened to fail her. She had said
+to herself that we must take our duty where we find it, and that we
+must look for it as much as possible. Pansy's sympathy was a direct
+admonition; it seemed to say that here was an opportunity, not eminent
+perhaps, but unmistakeable. Yet an opportunity for what Isabel could
+hardly have said; in general, to be more for the child than the child
+was able to be for herself. Isabel could have smiled, in these days, to
+remember that her little companion had once been ambiguous, for she
+now perceived that Pansy's ambiguities were simply her own grossness of
+vision. She had been unable to believe any one could care so much--so
+extraordinarily much--to please. But since then she had seen this
+delicate faculty in operation, and now she knew what to think of it. It
+was the whole creature--it was a sort of genius. Pansy had no pride to
+interfere with it, and though she was constantly extending her conquests
+she took no credit for them. The two were constantly together; Mrs.
+Osmond was rarely seen without her stepdaughter. Isabel liked her
+company; it had the effect of one's carrying a nosegay composed all
+of the same flower. And then not to neglect Pansy, not under any
+provocation to neglect her--this she had made an article of religion.
+The young girl had every appearance of being happier in Isabel's society
+than in that of any one save her father,--whom she admired with an
+intensity justified by the fact that, as paternity was an exquisite
+pleasure to Gilbert Osmond, he had always been luxuriously mild. Isabel
+knew how Pansy liked to be with her and how she studied the means of
+pleasing her. She had decided that the best way of pleasing her was
+negative, and consisted in not giving her trouble--a conviction which
+certainly could have had no reference to trouble already existing. She
+was therefore ingeniously passive and almost imaginatively docile; she
+was careful even to moderate the eagerness with which she assented to
+Isabel's propositions and which might have implied that she could have
+thought otherwise. She never interrupted, never asked social questions,
+and though she delighted in approbation, to the point of turning pale
+when it came to her, never held out her hand for it. She only looked
+toward it wistfully--an attitude which, as she grew older, made her eyes
+the prettiest in the world. When during the second winter at Palazzo
+Roccanera she began to go to parties, to dances, she always, at a
+reasonable hour, lest Mrs. Osmond should be tired, was the first to
+propose departure. Isabel appreciated the sacrifice of the late dances,
+for she knew her little companion had a passionate pleasure in this
+exercise, taking her steps to the music like a conscientious fairy.
+Society, moreover, had no drawbacks for her; she liked even the tiresome
+parts--the heat of ball-rooms, the dulness of dinners, the crush at
+the door, the awkward waiting for the carriage. During the day, in this
+vehicle, beside her stepmother, she sat in a small fixed, appreciative
+posture, bending forward and faintly smiling, as if she had been taken
+to drive for the first time.
+
+On the day I speak of they had been driven out of one of the gates of
+the city and at the end of half an hour had left the carriage to await
+them by the roadside while they walked away over the short grass of the
+Campagna, which even in the winter months is sprinkled with delicate
+flowers. This was almost a daily habit with Isabel, who was fond of a
+walk and had a swift length of step, though not so swift a one as on her
+first coming to Europe. It was not the form of exercise that Pansy loved
+best, but she liked it, because she liked everything; and she moved with
+a shorter undulation beside her father's wife, who afterwards, on their
+return to Rome, paid a tribute to her preferences by making the circuit
+of the Pincian or the Villa Borghese. She had gathered a handful of
+flowers in a sunny hollow, far from the walls of Rome, and on reaching
+Palazzo Roccanera she went straight to her room, to put them into
+water. Isabel passed into the drawing-room, the one she herself usually
+occupied, the second in order from the large ante-chamber which was
+entered from the staircase and in which even Gilbert Osmond's rich
+devices had not been able to correct a look of rather grand nudity. Just
+beyond the threshold of the drawing-room she stopped short, the
+reason for her doing so being that she had received an impression. The
+impression had, in strictness, nothing unprecedented; but she felt it as
+something new, and the soundlessness of her step gave her time to take
+in the scene before she interrupted it. Madame Merle was there in her
+bonnet, and Gilbert Osmond was talking to her; for a minute they were
+unaware she had come in. Isabel had often seen that before, certainly;
+but what she had not seen, or at least had not noticed, was that their
+colloquy had for the moment converted itself into a sort of familiar
+silence, from which she instantly perceived that her entrance would
+startle them. Madame Merle was standing on the rug, a little way from
+the fire; Osmond was in a deep chair, leaning back and looking at her.
+Her head was erect, as usual, but her eyes were bent on his. What struck
+Isabel first was that he was sitting while Madame Merle stood; there was
+an anomaly in this that arrested her. Then she perceived that they had
+arrived at a desultory pause in their exchange of ideas and were musing,
+face to face, with the freedom of old friends who sometimes exchange
+ideas without uttering them. There was nothing to shock in this; they
+were old friends in fact. But the thing made an image, lasting only a
+moment, like a sudden flicker of light. Their relative positions, their
+absorbed mutual gaze, struck her as something detected. But it was all
+over by the time she had fairly seen it. Madame Merle had seen her and
+had welcomed her without moving; her husband, on the other hand, had
+instantly jumped up. He presently murmured something about wanting a
+walk and, after having asked their visitor to excuse him, left the room.
+
+"I came to see you, thinking you would have come in; and as you hadn't I
+waited for you," Madame Merle said.
+
+"Didn't he ask you to sit down?" Isabel asked with a smile.
+
+Madame Merle looked about her. "Ah, it's very true; I was going away."
+
+"You must stay now."
+
+"Certainly. I came for a reason; I've something on my mind."
+
+"I've told you that before," Isabel said--"that it takes something
+extraordinary to bring you to this house."
+
+"And you know what I've told YOU; that whether I come or whether I stay
+away, I've always the same motive--the affection I bear you."
+
+"Yes, you've told me that."
+
+"You look just now as if you didn't believe it," said Madame Merle.
+
+"Ah," Isabel answered, "the profundity of your motives, that's the last
+thing I doubt!"
+
+"You doubt sooner of the sincerity of my words."
+
+Isabel shook her head gravely. "I know you've always been kind to me."
+
+"As often as you would let me. You don't always take it; then one has
+to let you alone. It's not to do you a kindness, however, that I've come
+to-day; it's quite another affair. I've come to get rid of a trouble of
+my own--to make it over to you. I've been talking to your husband about
+it."
+
+"I'm surprised at that; he doesn't like troubles."
+
+"Especially other people's; I know very well. But neither do you, I
+suppose. At any rate, whether you do or not, you must help me. It's
+about poor Mr. Rosier."
+
+"Ah," said Isabel reflectively, "it's his trouble then, not yours."
+
+"He has succeeded in saddling me with it. He comes to see me ten times a
+week, to talk about Pansy."
+
+"Yes, he wants to marry her. I know all about it."
+
+Madame Merle hesitated. "I gathered from your husband that perhaps you
+didn't."
+
+"How should he know what I know? He has never spoken to me of the
+matter."
+
+"It's probably because he doesn't know how to speak of it."
+
+"It's nevertheless the sort of question in which he's rarely at fault."
+
+"Yes, because as a general thing he knows perfectly well what to think.
+To-day he doesn't."
+
+"Haven't you been telling him?" Isabel asked.
+
+Madame Merle gave a bright, voluntary smile. "Do you know you're a
+little dry?"
+
+"Yes; I can't help it. Mr. Rosier has also talked to me."
+
+"In that there's some reason. You're so near the child."
+
+"Ah," said Isabel, "for all the comfort I've given him! If you think me
+dry, I wonder what HE thinks."
+
+"I believe he thinks you can do more than you have done."
+
+"I can do nothing."
+
+"You can do more at least than I. I don't know what mysterious
+connection he may have discovered between me and Pansy; but he came to
+me from the first, as if I held his fortune in my hand. Now he keeps
+coming back, to spur me up, to know what hope there is, to pour out his
+feelings."
+
+"He's very much in love," said Isabel.
+
+"Very much--for him."
+
+"Very much for Pansy, you might say as well."
+
+Madame Merle dropped her eyes a moment. "Don't you think she's
+attractive?"
+
+"The dearest little person possible--but very limited."
+
+"She ought to be all the easier for Mr. Rosier to love. Mr. Rosier's not
+unlimited."
+
+"No," said Isabel, "he has about the extent of one's
+pocket-handkerchief--the small ones with lace borders." Her humour had
+lately turned a good deal to sarcasm, but in a moment she was ashamed
+of exercising it on so innocent an object as Pansy's suitor. "He's very
+kind, very honest," she presently added; "and he's not such a fool as he
+seems."
+
+"He assures me that she delights in him," said Madame Merle.
+
+"I don't know; I've not asked her."
+
+"You've never sounded her a little?"
+
+"It's not my place; it's her father's."
+
+"Ah, you're too literal!" said Madame Merle.
+
+"I must judge for myself."
+
+Madame Merle gave her smile again. "It isn't easy to help you."
+
+"To help me?" said Isabel very seriously. "What do you mean?"
+
+"It's easy to displease you. Don't you see how wise I am to be careful?
+I notify you, at any rate, as I notified Osmond, that I wash my hands of
+the love-affairs of Miss Pansy and Mr. Edward Rosier. Je n'y peux rien,
+moi! I can't talk to Pansy about him. Especially," added Madame Merle,
+"as I don't think him a paragon of husbands."
+
+Isabel reflected a little; after which, with a smile, "You don't wash
+your hands then!" she said. After which again she added in another tone:
+"You can't--you're too much interested."
+
+Madame Merle slowly rose; she had given Isabel a look as rapid as the
+intimation that had gleamed before our heroine a few moments before.
+Only this time the latter saw nothing. "Ask him the next time, and
+you'll see."
+
+"I can't ask him; he has ceased to come to the house. Gilbert has let
+him know that he's not welcome."
+
+"Ah yes," said Madame Merle, "I forgot that--though it's the burden of
+his lamentation. He says Osmond has insulted him. All the same," she
+went on, "Osmond doesn't dislike him so much as he thinks." She had got
+up as if to close the conversation, but she lingered, looking about her,
+and had evidently more to say. Isabel perceived this and even saw the
+point she had in view; but Isabel also had her own reasons for not
+opening the way.
+
+"That must have pleased him, if you've told him," she answered, smiling.
+
+"Certainly I've told him; as far as that goes I've encouraged him. I've
+preached patience, have said that his case isn't desperate if he'll only
+hold his tongue and be quiet. Unfortunately he has taken it into his
+head to be jealous."
+
+"Jealous?"
+
+"Jealous of Lord Warburton, who, he says, is always here."
+
+Isabel, who was tired, had remained sitting; but at this she also rose.
+"Ah!" she exclaimed simply, moving slowly to the fireplace. Madame
+Merle observed her as she passed and while she stood a moment before the
+mantel-glass and pushed into its place a wandering tress of hair.
+
+"Poor Mr. Rosier keeps saying there's nothing impossible in Lord
+Warburton's falling in love with Pansy," Madame Merle went on. Isabel
+was silent a little; she turned away from the glass. "It's true--there's
+nothing impossible," she returned at last, gravely and more gently.
+
+"So I've had to admit to Mr. Rosier. So, too, your husband thinks."
+
+"That I don't know."
+
+"Ask him and you'll see."
+
+"I shall not ask him," said Isabel.
+
+"Pardon me; I forgot you had pointed that out. Of course," Madame Merle
+added, "you've had infinitely more observation of Lord Warburton's
+behaviour than I."
+
+"I see no reason why I shouldn't tell you that he likes my stepdaughter
+very much."
+
+Madame Merle gave one of her quick looks again. "Likes her, you mean--as
+Mr. Rosier means?"
+
+"I don't know how Mr. Rosier means; but Lord Warburton has let me know
+that he's charmed with Pansy."
+
+"And you've never told Osmond?" This observation was immediate,
+precipitate; it almost burst from Madame Merle's lips.
+
+Isabel's eyes rested on her. "I suppose he'll know in time; Lord
+Warburton has a tongue and knows how to express himself."
+
+Madame Merle instantly became conscious that she had spoken more quickly
+than usual, and the reflection brought the colour to her cheek. She gave
+the treacherous impulse time to subside and then said as if she had been
+thinking it over a little: "That would be better than marrying poor Mr.
+Rosier."
+
+"Much better, I think."
+
+"It would be very delightful; it would be a great marriage. It's really
+very kind of him."
+
+"Very kind of him?"
+
+"To drop his eyes on a simple little girl."
+
+"I don't see that."
+
+"It's very good of you. But after all, Pansy Osmond--"
+
+"After all, Pansy Osmond's the most attractive person he has ever
+known!" Isabel exclaimed.
+
+Madame Merle stared, and indeed she was justly bewildered. "Ah, a moment
+ago I thought you seemed rather to disparage her."
+
+"I said she was limited. And so she is. And so's Lord Warburton."
+
+"So are we all, if you come to that. If it's no more than Pansy
+deserves, all the better. But if she fixes her affections on Mr. Rosier
+I won't admit that she deserves it. That will be too perverse."
+
+"Mr. Rosier's a nuisance!" Isabel cried abruptly.
+
+"I quite agree with you, and I'm delighted to know that I'm not expected
+to feed his flame. For the future, when he calls on me, my door shall be
+closed to him." And gathering her mantle together Madame Merle prepared
+to depart. She was checked, however, on her progress to the door, by an
+inconsequent request from Isabel.
+
+"All the same, you know, be kind to him."
+
+She lifted her shoulders and eyebrows and stood looking at her friend.
+"I don't understand your contradictions! Decidedly I shan't be kind to
+him, for it will be a false kindness. I want to see her married to Lord
+Warburton."
+
+"You had better wait till he asks her."
+
+"If what you say's true, he'll ask her. Especially," said Madame Merle
+in a moment, "if you make him."
+
+"If I make him?"
+
+"It's quite in your power. You've great influence with him."
+
+Isabel frowned a little. "Where did you learn that?"
+
+"Mrs. Touchett told me. Not you--never!" said Madame Merle, smiling.
+
+"I certainly never told you anything of the sort."
+
+"You MIGHT have done so--so far as opportunity went--when we were by
+way of being confidential with each other. But you really told me very
+little; I've often thought so since."
+
+Isabel had thought so too, and sometimes with a certain satisfaction.
+But she didn't admit it now--perhaps because she wished not to appear to
+exult in it. "You seem to have had an excellent informant in my aunt,"
+she simply returned.
+
+"She let me know you had declined an offer of marriage from Lord
+Warburton, because she was greatly vexed and was full of the subject.
+Of course I think you've done better in doing as you did. But if you
+wouldn't marry Lord Warburton yourself, make him the reparation of
+helping him to marry some one else."
+
+Isabel listened to this with a face that persisted in not reflecting
+the bright expressiveness of Madame Merle's. But in a moment she said,
+reasonably and gently enough: "I should be very glad indeed if, as
+regards Pansy, it could be arranged." Upon which her companion, who
+seemed to regard this as a speech of good omen, embraced her more
+tenderly than might have been expected and triumphantly withdrew.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI
+
+Osmond touched on this matter that evening for the first time; coming
+very late into the drawing-room, where she was sitting alone. They had
+spent the evening at home, and Pansy had gone to bed; he himself had
+been sitting since dinner in a small apartment in which he had arranged
+his books and which he called his study. At ten o'clock Lord Warburton
+had come in, as he always did when he knew from Isabel that she was to
+be at home; he was going somewhere else and he sat for half an hour.
+Isabel, after asking him for news of Ralph, said very little to him, on
+purpose; she wished him to talk with her stepdaughter. She pretended to
+read; she even went after a little to the piano; she asked herself if
+she mightn't leave the room. She had come little by little to think
+well of the idea of Pansy's becoming the wife of the master of beautiful
+Lockleigh, though at first it had not presented itself in a manner to
+excite her enthusiasm. Madame Merle, that afternoon, had applied the
+match to an accumulation of inflammable material. When Isabel was
+unhappy she always looked about her--partly from impulse and partly by
+theory--for some form of positive exertion. She could never rid herself
+of the sense that unhappiness was a state of disease--of suffering as
+opposed to doing. To "do"--it hardly mattered what--would therefore
+be an escape, perhaps in some degree a remedy. Besides, she wished to
+convince herself that she had done everything possible to content her
+husband; she was determined not to be haunted by visions of his wife's
+limpness under appeal. It would please him greatly to see Pansy married
+to an English nobleman, and justly please him, since this nobleman was
+so sound a character. It seemed to Isabel that if she could make it her
+duty to bring about such an event she should play the part of a good
+wife. She wanted to be that; she wanted to be able to believe sincerely,
+and with proof of it, that she had been that. Then such an undertaking
+had other recommendations. It would occupy her, and she desired
+occupation. It would even amuse her, and if she could really amuse
+herself she perhaps might be saved. Lastly, it would be a service to
+Lord Warburton, who evidently pleased himself greatly with the charming
+girl. It was a little "weird" he should--being what he was; but there
+was no accounting for such impressions. Pansy might captivate any
+one--any one at least but Lord Warburton. Isabel would have thought her
+too small, too slight, perhaps even too artificial for that. There was
+always a little of the doll about her, and that was not what he had been
+looking for. Still, who could say what men ever were looking for? They
+looked for what they found; they knew what pleased them only when
+they saw it. No theory was valid in such matters, and nothing was more
+unaccountable or more natural than anything else. If he had cared for
+HER it might seem odd he should care for Pansy, who was so different;
+but he had not cared for her so much as he had supposed. Or if he had,
+he had completely got over it, and it was natural that, as that affair
+had failed, he should think something of quite another sort might
+succeed. Enthusiasm, as I say, had not come at first to Isabel, but
+it came to-day and made her feel almost happy. It was astonishing what
+happiness she could still find in the idea of procuring a pleasure for
+her husband. It was a pity, however, that Edward Rosier had crossed
+their path!
+
+At this reflection the light that had suddenly gleamed upon that path
+lost something of its brightness. Isabel was unfortunately as sure that
+Pansy thought Mr. Rosier the nicest of all the young men--as sure as if
+she had held an interview with her on the subject. It was very tiresome
+she should be so sure, when she had carefully abstained from informing
+herself; almost as tiresome as that poor Mr. Rosier should have taken it
+into his own head. He was certainly very inferior to Lord Warburton. It
+was not the difference in fortune so much as the difference in the men;
+the young American was really so light a weight. He was much more of
+the type of the useless fine gentleman than the English nobleman. It
+was true that there was no particular reason why Pansy should marry a
+statesman; still, if a statesman admired her, that was his affair, and
+she would make a perfect little pearl of a peeress.
+
+It may seem to the reader that Mrs. Osmond had grown of a sudden
+strangely cynical, for she ended by saying to herself that this
+difficulty could probably be arranged. An impediment that was embodied
+in poor Rosier could not anyhow present itself as a dangerous one; there
+were always means of levelling secondary obstacles. Isabel was perfectly
+aware that she had not taken the measure of Pansy's tenacity, which
+might prove to be inconveniently great; but she inclined to see her
+as rather letting go, under suggestion, than as clutching under
+deprecation--since she had certainly the faculty of assent developed in
+a very much higher degree than that of protest. She would cling, yes,
+she would cling; but it really mattered to her very little what she
+clung to. Lord Warburton would do as well as Mr. Rosier--especially as
+she seemed quite to like him; she had expressed this sentiment to Isabel
+without a single reservation; she had said she thought his conversation
+most interesting--he had told her all about India. His manner to Pansy
+had been of the rightest and easiest--Isabel noticed that for herself,
+as she also observed that he talked to her not in the least in a
+patronising way, reminding himself of her youth and simplicity, but
+quite as if she understood his subjects with that sufficiency with which
+she followed those of the fashionable operas. This went far enough
+for attention to the music and the barytone. He was careful only to be
+kind--he was as kind as he had been to another fluttered young chit at
+Gardencourt. A girl might well be touched by that; she remembered how
+she herself had been touched, and said to herself that if she had been
+as simple as Pansy the impression would have been deeper still. She
+had not been simple when she refused him; that operation had been
+as complicated as, later, her acceptance of Osmond had been. Pansy,
+however, in spite of HER simplicity, really did understand, and was
+glad that Lord Warburton should talk to her, not about her partners and
+bouquets, but about the state of Italy, the condition of the peasantry,
+the famous grist-tax, the pellagra, his impressions of Roman society.
+She looked at him, as she drew her needle through her tapestry, with
+sweet submissive eyes, and when she lowered them she gave little quiet
+oblique glances at his person, his hands, his feet, his clothes, as if
+she were considering him. Even his person, Isabel might have reminded
+her, was better than Mr. Rosier's. But Isabel contented herself at such
+moments with wondering where this gentleman was; he came no more at all
+to Palazzo Roccanera. It was surprising, as I say, the hold it had taken
+of her--the idea of assisting her husband to be pleased.
+
+It was surprising for a variety of reasons which I shall presently touch
+upon. On the evening I speak of, while Lord Warburton sat there, she had
+been on the point of taking the great step of going out of the room and
+leaving her companions alone. I say the great step, because it was in
+this light that Gilbert Osmond would have regarded it, and Isabel was
+trying as much as possible to take her husband's view. She succeeded
+after a fashion, but she fell short of the point I mention. After all
+she couldn't rise to it; something held her and made this impossible.
+It was not exactly that it would be base or insidious; for women as a
+general thing practise such manoeuvres with a perfectly good conscience,
+and Isabel was instinctively much more true than false to the common
+genius of her sex. There was a vague doubt that interposed--a sense that
+she was not quite sure. So she remained in the drawing-room, and after a
+while Lord Warburton went off to his party, of which he promised to give
+Pansy a full account on the morrow. After he had gone she wondered
+if she had prevented something which would have happened if she
+had absented herself for a quarter of an hour; and then she
+pronounced--always mentally--that when their distinguished visitor
+should wish her to go away he would easily find means to let her know
+it. Pansy said nothing whatever about him after he had gone, and Isabel
+studiously said nothing, as she had taken a vow of reserve until after
+he should have declared himself. He was a little longer in coming to
+this than might seem to accord with the description he had given Isabel
+of his feelings. Pansy went to bed, and Isabel had to admit that
+she could not now guess what her stepdaughter was thinking of. Her
+transparent little companion was for the moment not to be seen through.
+
+She remained alone, looking at the fire, until, at the end of half an
+hour, her husband came in. He moved about a while in silence and
+then sat down; he looked at the fire like herself. But she now had
+transferred her eyes from the flickering flame in the chimney to
+Osmond's face, and she watched him while he kept his silence. Covert
+observation had become a habit with her; an instinct, of which it is not
+an exaggeration to say that it was allied to that of self-defence, had
+made it habitual. She wished as much as possible to know his thoughts,
+to know what he would say, beforehand, so that she might prepare her
+answer. Preparing answers had not been her strong point of old; she had
+rarely in this respect got further than thinking afterwards of clever
+things she might have said. But she had learned caution--learned it in
+a measure from her husband's very countenance. It was the same face she
+had looked into with eyes equally earnest perhaps, but less penetrating,
+on the terrace of a Florentine villa; except that Osmond had grown
+slightly stouter since his marriage. He still, however, might strike one
+as very distinguished.
+
+"Has Lord Warburton been here?" he presently asked.
+
+"Yes, he stayed half an hour."
+
+"Did he see Pansy?"
+
+"Yes; he sat on the sofa beside her."
+
+"Did he talk with her much?"
+
+"He talked almost only to her."
+
+"It seems to me he's attentive. Isn't that what you call it?"
+
+"I don't call it anything," said Isabel; "I've waited for you to give it
+a name."
+
+"That's a consideration you don't always show," Osmond answered after a
+moment.
+
+"I've determined, this time, to try and act as you'd like. I've so often
+failed of that."
+
+Osmond turned his head slowly, looking at her. "Are you trying to
+quarrel with me?"
+
+"No, I'm trying to live at peace."
+
+"Nothing's more easy; you know I don't quarrel myself."
+
+"What do you call it when you try to make me angry?" Isabel asked.
+
+"I don't try; if I've done so it has been the most natural thing in the
+world. Moreover I'm not in the least trying now."
+
+Isabel smiled. "It doesn't matter. I've determined never to be angry
+again."
+
+"That's an excellent resolve. Your temper isn't good."
+
+"No--it's not good." She pushed away the book she had been reading and
+took up the band of tapestry Pansy had left on the table.
+
+"That's partly why I've not spoken to you about this business of my
+daughter's," Osmond said, designating Pansy in the manner that was most
+frequent with him. "I was afraid I should encounter opposition--that you
+too would have views on the subject. I've sent little Rosier about his
+business."
+
+"You were afraid I'd plead for Mr. Rosier? Haven't you noticed that I've
+never spoken to you of him?"
+
+"I've never given you a chance. We've so little conversation in these
+days. I know he was an old friend of yours."
+
+"Yes; he's an old friend of mine." Isabel cared little more for him than
+for the tapestry that she held in her hand; but it was true that he
+was an old friend and that with her husband she felt a desire not to
+extenuate such ties. He had a way of expressing contempt for them which
+fortified her loyalty to them, even when, as in the present case, they
+were in themselves insignificant. She sometimes felt a sort of passion
+of tenderness for memories which had no other merit than that they
+belonged to her unmarried life. "But as regards Pansy," she added in a
+moment, "I've given him no encouragement."
+
+"That's fortunate," Osmond observed.
+
+"Fortunate for me, I suppose you mean. For him it matters little."
+
+"There's no use talking of him," Osmond said. "As I tell you, I've
+turned him out."
+
+"Yes; but a lover outside's always a lover. He's sometimes even more of
+one. Mr. Rosier still has hope."
+
+"He's welcome to the comfort of it! My daughter has only to sit
+perfectly quiet to become Lady Warburton."
+
+"Should you like that?" Isabel asked with a simplicity which was not
+so affected as it may appear. She was resolved to assume nothing, for
+Osmond had a way of unexpectedly turning her assumptions against her.
+The intensity with which he would like his daughter to become Lady
+Warburton had been the very basis of her own recent reflections. But
+that was for herself; she would recognise nothing until Osmond should
+have put it into words; she would not take for granted with him that
+he thought Lord Warburton a prize worth an amount of effort that was
+unusual among the Osmonds. It was Gilbert's constant intimation that for
+him nothing in life was a prize; that he treated as from equal to equal
+with the most distinguished people in the world, and that his daughter
+had only to look about her to pick out a prince. It cost him therefore
+a lapse from consistency to say explicitly that he yearned for Lord
+Warburton and that if this nobleman should escape his equivalent might
+not be found; with which moreover it was another of his customary
+implications that he was never inconsistent. He would have liked his
+wife to glide over the point. But strangely enough, now that she
+was face to face with him and although an hour before she had almost
+invented a scheme for pleasing him, Isabel was not accommodating,
+would not glide. And yet she knew exactly the effect on his mind of
+her question: it would operate as an humiliation. Never mind; he was
+terribly capable of humiliating her--all the more so that he was also
+capable of waiting for great opportunities and of showing sometimes an
+almost unaccountable indifference to small ones. Isabel perhaps took a
+small opportunity because she would not have availed herself of a great
+one.
+
+Osmond at present acquitted himself very honourably. "I should like it
+extremely; it would be a great marriage. And then Lord Warburton has
+another advantage: he's an old friend of yours. It would be pleasant for
+him to come into the family. It's very odd Pansy's admirers should all
+be your old friends."
+
+"It's natural that they should come to see me. In coming to see me they
+see Pansy. Seeing her it's natural they should fall in love with her."
+
+"So I think. But you're not bound to do so."
+
+"If she should marry Lord Warburton I should be very glad," Isabel went
+on frankly. "He's an excellent man. You say, however, that she has only
+to sit perfectly still. Perhaps she won't sit perfectly still. If she
+loses Mr. Rosier she may jump up!"
+
+Osmond appeared to give no heed to this; he sat gazing at the fire.
+"Pansy would like to be a great lady," he remarked in a moment with a
+certain tenderness of tone. "She wishes above all to please," he added.
+
+"To please Mr. Rosier, perhaps."
+
+"No, to please me."
+
+"Me too a little, I think," said Isabel.
+
+"Yes, she has a great opinion of you. But she'll do what I like."
+
+"If you're sure of that, it's very well," she went on.
+
+"Meantime," said Osmond, "I should like our distinguished visitor to
+speak."
+
+"He has spoken--to me. He has told me it would be a great pleasure to
+him to believe she could care for him."
+
+Osmond turned his head quickly, but at first he said nothing. Then, "Why
+didn't you tell me that?" he asked sharply.
+
+"There was no opportunity. You know how we live. I've taken the first
+chance that has offered."
+
+"Did you speak to him of Rosier?"
+
+"Oh yes, a little."
+
+"That was hardly necessary."
+
+"I thought it best he should know, so that, so that--" And Isabel
+paused.
+
+"So that what?"
+
+"So that he might act accordingly."
+
+"So that he might back out, do you mean?"
+
+"No, so that he might advance while there's yet time."
+
+"That's not the effect it seems to have had."
+
+"You should have patience," said Isabel. "You know Englishmen are shy."
+
+"This one's not. He was not when he made love to YOU."
+
+She had been afraid Osmond would speak of that; it was disagreeable to
+her. "I beg your pardon; he was extremely so," she returned.
+
+He answered nothing for some time; he took up a book and fingered the
+pages while she sat silent and occupied herself with Pansy's tapestry.
+"You must have a great deal of influence with him," Osmond went on at
+last. "The moment you really wish it you can bring him to the point."
+
+This was more offensive still; but she felt the great naturalness of
+his saying it, and it was after all extremely like what she had said
+to herself. "Why should I have influence?" she asked. "What have I ever
+done to put him under an obligation to me?"
+
+"You refused to marry him," said Osmond with his eyes on his book.
+
+"I must not presume too much on that," she replied.
+
+He threw down the book presently and got up, standing before the fire
+with his hands behind him. "Well, I hold that it lies in your hands. I
+shall leave it there. With a little good-will you may manage it. Think
+that over and remember how much I count on you." He waited a little,
+to give her time to answer; but she answered nothing, and he presently
+strolled out of the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII
+
+She had answered nothing because his words had put the situation before
+her and she was absorbed in looking at it. There was something in them
+that suddenly made vibrations deep, so that she had been afraid to trust
+herself to speak. After he had gone she leaned back in her chair and
+closed her eyes; and for a long time, far into the night and still
+further, she sat in the still drawing-room, given up to her meditation.
+A servant came in to attend to the fire, and she bade him bring fresh
+candles and then go to bed. Osmond had told her to think of what he had
+said; and she did so indeed, and of many other things. The suggestion
+from another that she had a definite influence on Lord Warburton--this
+had given her the start that accompanies unexpected recognition. Was it
+true that there was something still between them that might be a handle
+to make him declare himself to Pansy--a susceptibility, on his part, to
+approval, a desire to do what would please her? Isabel had hitherto not
+asked herself the question, because she had not been forced; but now
+that it was directly presented to her she saw the answer, and the answer
+frightened her. Yes, there was something--something on Lord Warburton's
+part. When he had first come to Rome she believed the link that united
+them to be completely snapped; but little by little she had been
+reminded that it had yet a palpable existence. It was as thin as a hair,
+but there were moments when she seemed to hear it vibrate. For herself
+nothing was changed; what she once thought of him she always thought;
+it was needless this feeling should change; it seemed to her in fact a
+better feeling than ever. But he? had he still the idea that she might
+be more to him than other women? Had he the wish to profit by the memory
+of the few moments of intimacy through which they had once passed?
+Isabel knew she had read some of the signs of such a disposition. But
+what were his hopes, his pretensions, and in what strange way were they
+mingled with his evidently very sincere appreciation of poor Pansy? Was
+he in love with Gilbert Osmond's wife, and if so what comfort did he
+expect to derive from it? If he was in love with Pansy he was not in
+love with her stepmother, and if he was in love with her stepmother
+he was not in love with Pansy. Was she to cultivate the advantage she
+possessed in order to make him commit himself to Pansy, knowing he would
+do so for her sake and not for the small creature's own--was this the
+service her husband had asked of her? This at any rate was the duty
+with which she found herself confronted--from the moment she admitted to
+herself that her old friend had still an uneradicated predilection for
+her society. It was not an agreeable task; it was in fact a repulsive
+one. She asked herself with dismay whether Lord Warburton were
+pretending to be in love with Pansy in order to cultivate another
+satisfaction and what might be called other chances. Of this refinement
+of duplicity she presently acquitted him; she preferred to believe him
+in perfect good faith. But if his admiration for Pansy were a delusion
+this was scarcely better than its being an affectation. Isabel wandered
+among these ugly possibilities until she had completely lost her way;
+some of them, as she suddenly encountered them, seemed ugly enough. Then
+she broke out of the labyrinth, rubbing her eyes, and declared that her
+imagination surely did her little honour and that her husband's did him
+even less. Lord Warburton was as disinterested as he need be, and she
+was no more to him than she need wish. She would rest upon this till
+the contrary should be proved; proved more effectually than by a cynical
+intimation of Osmond's.
+
+Such a resolution, however, brought her this evening but little peace,
+for her soul was haunted with terrors which crowded to the foreground of
+thought as quickly as a place was made for them. What had suddenly set
+them into livelier motion she hardly knew, unless it were the strange
+impression she had received in the afternoon of her husband's being in
+more direct communication with Madame Merle than she suspected. That
+impression came back to her from time to time, and now she wondered it
+had never come before. Besides this, her short interview with Osmond
+half an hour ago was a striking example of his faculty for making
+everything wither that he touched, spoiling everything for her that he
+looked at. It was very well to undertake to give him a proof of loyalty;
+the real fact was that the knowledge of his expecting a thing raised a
+presumption against it. It was as if he had had the evil eye; as if his
+presence were a blight and his favour a misfortune. Was the fault in
+himself, or only in the deep mistrust she had conceived for him? This
+mistrust was now the clearest result of their short married life; a gulf
+had opened between them over which they looked at each other with eyes
+that were on either side a declaration of the deception suffered. It
+was a strange opposition, of the like of which she had never dreamed--an
+opposition in which the vital principle of the one was a thing of
+contempt to the other. It was not her fault--she had practised no
+deception; she had only admired and believed. She had taken all the
+first steps in the purest confidence, and then she had suddenly found
+the infinite vista of a multiplied life to be a dark, narrow alley
+with a dead wall at the end. Instead of leading to the high places of
+happiness, from which the world would seem to lie below one, so that one
+could look down with a sense of exaltation and advantage, and judge and
+choose and pity, it led rather downward and earthward, into realms of
+restriction and depression where the sound of other lives, easier
+and freer, was heard as from above, and where it served to deepen the
+feeling of failure. It was her deep distrust of her husband--this was
+what darkened the world. That is a sentiment easily indicated, but not
+so easily explained, and so composite in its character that much time
+and still more suffering had been needed to bring it to its actual
+perfection. Suffering, with Isabel, was an active condition; it was
+not a chill, a stupor, a despair; it was a passion of thought, of
+speculation, of response to every pressure. She flattered herself
+that she had kept her failing faith to herself, however,--that no one
+suspected it but Osmond. Oh, he knew it, and there were times when she
+thought he enjoyed it. It had come gradually--it was not till the first
+year of their life together, so admirably intimate at first, had closed
+that she had taken the alarm. Then the shadows had begun to gather; it
+was as if Osmond deliberately, almost malignantly, had put the lights
+out one by one. The dusk at first was vague and thin, and she could
+still see her way in it. But it steadily deepened, and if now and again
+it had occasionally lifted there were certain corners of her prospect
+that were impenetrably black. These shadows were not an emanation from
+her own mind: she was very sure of that; she had done her best to be
+just and temperate, to see only the truth. They were a part, they were
+a kind of creation and consequence, of her husband's very presence. They
+were not his misdeeds, his turpitudes; she accused him of nothing--that
+is but of one thing, which was NOT a crime. She knew of no wrong he had
+done; he was not violent, he was not cruel: she simply believed he hated
+her. That was all she accused him of, and the miserable part of it was
+precisely that it was not a crime, for against a crime she might have
+found redress. He had discovered that she was so different, that she was
+not what he had believed she would prove to be. He had thought at first
+he could change her, and she had done her best to be what he would like.
+But she was, after all, herself--she couldn't help that; and now there
+was no use pretending, wearing a mask or a dress, for he knew her and
+had made up his mind. She was not afraid of him; she had no apprehension
+he would hurt her; for the ill-will he bore her was not of that sort.
+He would if possible never give her a pretext, never put himself in the
+wrong. Isabel, scanning the future with dry, fixed eyes, saw that he
+would have the better of her there. She would give him many pretexts,
+she would often put herself in the wrong. There were times when she
+almost pitied him; for if she had not deceived him in intention she
+understood how completely she must have done so in fact. She had effaced
+herself when he first knew her; she had made herself small, pretending
+there was less of her than there really was. It was because she had been
+under the extraordinary charm that he, on his side, had taken pains to
+put forth. He was not changed; he had not disguised himself, during the
+year of his courtship, any more than she. But she had seen only half his
+nature then, as one saw the disk of the moon when it was partly masked
+by the shadow of the earth. She saw the full moon now--she saw the
+whole man. She had kept still, as it were, so that he should have a free
+field, and yet in spite of this she had mistaken a part for the whole.
+
+Ah, she had been immensely under the charm! It had not passed away; it
+was there still: she still knew perfectly what it was that made Osmond
+delightful when he chose to be. He had wished to be when he made love
+to her, and as she had wished to be charmed it was not wonderful he
+had succeeded. He had succeeded because he had been sincere; it never
+occurred to her now to deny him that. He admired her--he had told her
+why: because she was the most imaginative woman he had known. It might
+very well have been true; for during those months she had imagined
+a world of things that had no substance. She had had a more wondrous
+vision of him, fed through charmed senses and oh such a stirred
+fancy!--she had not read him right. A certain combination of features
+had touched her, and in them she had seen the most striking of figures.
+That he was poor and lonely and yet that somehow he was noble--that was
+what had interested her and seemed to give her her opportunity. There
+had been an indefinable beauty about him--in his situation, in his mind,
+in his face. She had felt at the same time that he was helpless and
+ineffectual, but the feeling had taken the form of a tenderness
+which was the very flower of respect. He was like a sceptical voyager
+strolling on the beach while he waited for the tide, looking seaward yet
+not putting to sea. It was in all this she had found her occasion. She
+would launch his boat for him; she would be his providence; it would be
+a good thing to love him. And she had loved him, she had so anxiously
+and yet so ardently given herself--a good deal for what she found in
+him, but a good deal also for what she brought him and what might enrich
+the gift. As she looked back at the passion of those full weeks she
+perceived in it a kind of maternal strain--the happiness of a woman who
+felt that she was a contributor, that she came with charged hands. But
+for her money, as she saw to-day, she would never have done it. And then
+her mind wandered off to poor Mr. Touchett, sleeping under English turf,
+the beneficent author of infinite woe! For this was the fantastic fact.
+At bottom her money had been a burden, had been on her mind, which
+was filled with the desire to transfer the weight of it to some other
+conscience, to some more prepared receptacle. What would lighten her
+own conscience more effectually than to make it over to the man with the
+best taste in the world? Unless she should have given it to a hospital
+there would have been nothing better she could do with it; and there was
+no charitable institution in which she had been as much interested as
+in Gilbert Osmond. He would use her fortune in a way that would make her
+think better of it and rub off a certain grossness attaching to the good
+luck of an unexpected inheritance. There had been nothing very delicate
+in inheriting seventy thousand pounds; the delicacy had been all in Mr.
+Touchett's leaving them to her. But to marry Gilbert Osmond and bring
+him such a portion--in that there would be delicacy for her as well.
+There would be less for him--that was true; but that was his affair, and
+if he loved her he wouldn't object to her being rich. Had he not had the
+courage to say he was glad she was rich?
+
+Isabel's cheek burned when she asked herself if she had really married
+on a factitious theory, in order to do something finely appreciable with
+her money. But she was able to answer quickly enough that this was
+only half the story. It was because a certain ardour took possession of
+her--a sense of the earnestness of his affection and a delight in
+his personal qualities. He was better than any one else. This supreme
+conviction had filled her life for months, and enough of it still
+remained to prove to her that she could not have done otherwise. The
+finest--in the sense of being the subtlest--manly organism she had ever
+known had become her property, and the recognition of her having but
+to put out her hands and take it had been originally a sort of act of
+devotion. She had not been mistaken about the beauty of his mind; she
+knew that organ perfectly now. She had lived with it, she had lived IN
+it almost--it appeared to have become her habitation. If she had been
+captured it had taken a firm hand to seize her; that reflection perhaps
+had some worth. A mind more ingenious, more pliant, more cultivated,
+more trained to admirable exercises, she had not encountered; and it was
+this exquisite instrument she had now to reckon with. She lost herself
+in infinite dismay when she thought of the magnitude of HIS deception.
+It was a wonder, perhaps, in view of this, that he didn't hate her more.
+She remembered perfectly the first sign he had given of it--it had been
+like the bell that was to ring up the curtain upon the real drama of
+their life. He said to her one day that she had too many ideas and that
+she must get rid of them. He had told her that already, before their
+marriage; but then she had not noticed it: it had come back to her only
+afterwards. This time she might well have noticed it, because he had
+really meant it. The words had been nothing superficially; but when in
+the light of deepening experience she had looked into them they had then
+appeared portentous. He had really meant it--he would have liked her to
+have nothing of her own but her pretty appearance. She had known she had
+too many ideas; she had more even than he had supposed, many more than
+she had expressed to him when he had asked her to marry him. Yes, she
+HAD been hypocritical; she had liked him so much. She had too many ideas
+for herself; but that was just what one married for, to share them with
+some one else. One couldn't pluck them up by the roots, though of course
+one might suppress them, be careful not to utter them. It had not been
+this, however, his objecting to her opinions; this had been nothing. She
+had no opinions--none that she would not have been eager to sacrifice in
+the satisfaction of feeling herself loved for it. What he had meant
+had been the whole thing--her character, the way she felt, the way she
+judged. This was what she had kept in reserve; this was what he had not
+known until he had found himself--with the door closed behind, as it
+were--set down face to face with it. She had a certain way of looking at
+life which he took as a personal offence. Heaven knew that now at least
+it was a very humble, accommodating way! The strange thing was that
+she should not have suspected from the first that his own had been so
+different. She had thought it so large, so enlightened, so perfectly
+that of an honest man and a gentleman. Hadn't he assured her that he had
+no superstitions, no dull limitations, no prejudices that had lost their
+freshness? Hadn't he all the appearance of a man living in the open air
+of the world, indifferent to small considerations, caring only for truth
+and knowledge and believing that two intelligent people ought to look
+for them together and, whether they found them or not, find at least
+some happiness in the search? He had told her he loved the conventional;
+but there was a sense in which this seemed a noble declaration. In that
+sense, that of the love of harmony and order and decency and of all the
+stately offices of life, she went with him freely, and his warning had
+contained nothing ominous. But when, as the months had elapsed, she
+had followed him further and he had led her into the mansion of his own
+habitation, then, THEN she had seen where she really was.
+
+She could live it over again, the incredulous terror with which she
+had taken the measure of her dwelling. Between those four walls she had
+lived ever since; they were to surround her for the rest of her life.
+It was the house of darkness, the house of dumbness, the house of
+suffocation. Osmond's beautiful mind gave it neither light nor air;
+Osmond's beautiful mind indeed seemed to peep down from a small high
+window and mock at her. Of course it had not been physical suffering;
+for physical suffering there might have been a remedy. She could come
+and go; she had her liberty; her husband was perfectly polite. He took
+himself so seriously; it was something appalling. Under all his culture,
+his cleverness, his amenity, under his good-nature, his facility, his
+knowledge of life, his egotism lay hidden like a serpent in a bank
+of flowers. She had taken him seriously, but she had not taken him so
+seriously as that. How could she--especially when she had known him
+better? She was to think of him as he thought of himself--as the first
+gentleman in Europe. So it was that she had thought of him at first, and
+that indeed was the reason she had married him. But when she began to
+see what it implied she drew back; there was more in the bond than she
+had meant to put her name to. It implied a sovereign contempt for every
+one but some three or four very exalted people whom he envied, and for
+everything in the world but half a dozen ideas of his own. That was very
+well; she would have gone with him even there a long distance; for
+he pointed out to her so much of the baseness and shabbiness of life,
+opened her eyes so wide to the stupidity, the depravity, the ignorance
+of mankind, that she had been properly impressed with the infinite
+vulgarity of things and of the virtue of keeping one's self unspotted by
+it. But this base, if noble world, it appeared, was after all what one
+was to live for; one was to keep it forever in one's eye, in order
+not to enlighten or convert or redeem it, but to extract from it some
+recognition of one's own superiority. On the one hand it was despicable,
+but on the other it afforded a standard. Osmond had talked to Isabel
+about his renunciation, his indifference, the ease with which he
+dispensed with the usual aids to success; and all this had seemed to
+her admirable. She had thought it a grand indifference, an exquisite
+independence. But indifference was really the last of his qualities;
+she had never seen any one who thought so much of others. For herself,
+avowedly, the world had always interested her and the study of her
+fellow creatures been her constant passion. She would have been willing,
+however, to renounce all her curiosities and sympathies for the sake of
+a personal life, if the person concerned had only been able to make her
+believe it was a gain! This at least was her present conviction; and
+the thing certainly would have been easier than to care for society as
+Osmond cared for it.
+
+He was unable to live without it, and she saw that he had never really
+done so; he had looked at it out of his window even when he appeared
+to be most detached from it. He had his ideal, just as she had tried to
+have hers; only it was strange that people should seek for justice in
+such different quarters. His ideal was a conception of high prosperity
+and propriety, of the aristocratic life, which she now saw that he
+deemed himself always, in essence at least, to have led. He had never
+lapsed from it for an hour; he would never have recovered from the shame
+of doing so. That again was very well; here too she would have agreed;
+but they attached such different ideas, such different associations and
+desires, to the same formulas. Her notion of the aristocratic life was
+simply the union of great knowledge with great liberty; the knowledge
+would give one a sense of duty and the liberty a sense of enjoyment. But
+for Osmond it was altogether a thing of forms, a conscious, calculated
+attitude. He was fond of the old, the consecrated, the transmitted;
+so was she, but she pretended to do what she chose with it. He had an
+immense esteem for tradition; he had told her once that the best thing
+in the world was to have it, but that if one was so unfortunate as not
+to have it one must immediately proceed to make it. She knew that he
+meant by this that she hadn't it, but that he was better off; though
+from what source he had derived his traditions she never learned. He
+had a very large collection of them, however; that was very certain,
+and after a little she began to see. The great thing was to act in
+accordance with them; the great thing not only for him but for her.
+Isabel had an undefined conviction that to serve for another person than
+their proprietor traditions must be of a thoroughly superior kind; but
+she nevertheless assented to this intimation that she too must march
+to the stately music that floated down from unknown periods in her
+husband's past; she who of old had been so free of step, so desultory,
+so devious, so much the reverse of processional. There were certain
+things they must do, a certain posture they must take, certain people
+they must know and not know. When she saw this rigid system close about
+her, draped though it was in pictured tapestries, that sense of darkness
+and suffocation of which I have spoken took possession of her; she
+seemed shut up with an odour of mould and decay. She had resisted of
+course; at first very humorously, ironically, tenderly; then, as the
+situation grew more serious, eagerly, passionately, pleadingly. She had
+pleaded the cause of freedom, of doing as they chose, of not caring for
+the aspect and denomination of their life--the cause of other instincts
+and longings, of quite another ideal.
+
+Then it was that her husband's personality, touched as it never had
+been, stepped forth and stood erect. The things she had said were
+answered only by his scorn, and she could see he was ineffably ashamed
+of her. What did he think of her--that she was base, vulgar, ignoble?
+He at least knew now that she had no traditions! It had not been in his
+prevision of things that she should reveal such flatness; her sentiments
+were worthy of a radical newspaper or a Unitarian preacher. The real
+offence, as she ultimately perceived, was her having a mind of her
+own at all. Her mind was to be his--attached to his own like a small
+garden-plot to a deer-park. He would rake the soil gently and water the
+flowers; he would weed the beds and gather an occasional nosegay.
+It would be a pretty piece of property for a proprietor already
+far-reaching. He didn't wish her to be stupid. On the contrary, it was
+because she was clever that she had pleased him. But he expected her
+intelligence to operate altogether in his favour, and so far from
+desiring her mind to be a blank he had flattered himself that it would
+be richly receptive. He had expected his wife to feel with him and for
+him, to enter into his opinions, his ambitions, his preferences; and
+Isabel was obliged to confess that this was no great insolence on the
+part of a man so accomplished and a husband originally at least so
+tender. But there were certain things she could never take in. To
+begin with, they were hideously unclean. She was not a daughter of the
+Puritans, but for all that she believed in such a thing as chastity and
+even as decency. It would appear that Osmond was far from doing anything
+of the sort; some of his traditions made her push back her skirts. Did
+all women have lovers? Did they all lie and even the best have their
+price? Were there only three or four that didn't deceive their husbands?
+When Isabel heard such things she felt a greater scorn for them than for
+the gossip of a village parlour--a scorn that kept its freshness in
+a very tainted air. There was the taint of her sister-in-law: did her
+husband judge only by the Countess Gemini? This lady very often lied,
+and she had practised deceptions that were not simply verbal. It was
+enough to find these facts assumed among Osmond's traditions--it was
+enough without giving them such a general extension. It was her scorn
+of his assumptions, it was this that made him draw himself up. He
+had plenty of contempt, and it was proper his wife should be as well
+furnished; but that she should turn the hot light of her disdain upon
+his own conception of things--this was a danger he had not allowed for.
+He believed he should have regulated her emotions before she came to
+it; and Isabel could easily imagine how his ears had scorched on his
+discovering he had been too confident. When one had a wife who gave one
+that sensation there was nothing left but to hate her.
+
+She was morally certain now that this feeling of hatred, which at first
+had been a refuge and a refreshment, had become the occupation and
+comfort of his life. The feeling was deep, because it was sincere; he
+had had the revelation that she could after all dispense with him. If
+to herself the idea was startling, if it presented itself at first as a
+kind of infidelity, a capacity for pollution, what infinite effect might
+it not be expected to have had upon HIM? It was very simple; he
+despised her; she had no traditions and the moral horizon of a
+Unitarian minister. Poor Isabel, who had never been able to understand
+Unitarianism! This was the certitude she had been living with now for
+a time that she had ceased to measure. What was coming--what was before
+them? That was her constant question. What would he do--what ought SHE
+to do? When a man hated his wife what did it lead to? She didn't hate
+him, that she was sure of, for every little while she felt a passionate
+wish to give him a pleasant surprise. Very often, however, she felt
+afraid, and it used to come over her, as I have intimated, that she
+had deceived him at the very first. They were strangely married, at all
+events, and it was a horrible life. Until that morning he had scarcely
+spoken to her for a week; his manner was as dry as a burned-out
+fire. She knew there was a special reason; he was displeased at Ralph
+Touchett's staying on in Rome. He thought she saw too much of her
+cousin--he had told her a week before it was indecent she should go to
+him at his hotel. He would have said more than this if Ralph's invalid
+state had not appeared to make it brutal to denounce him; but having had
+to contain himself had only deepened his disgust. Isabel read all this
+as she would have read the hour on the clock-face; she was as perfectly
+aware that the sight of her interest in her cousin stirred her husband's
+rage as if Osmond had locked her into her room--which she was sure was
+what he wanted to do. It was her honest belief that on the whole she
+was not defiant, but she certainly couldn't pretend to be indifferent to
+Ralph. She believed he was dying at last and that she should never see
+him again, and this gave her a tenderness for him that she had never
+known before. Nothing was a pleasure to her now; how could anything be
+a pleasure to a woman who knew that she had thrown away her life? There
+was an everlasting weight on her heart--there was a livid light on
+everything. But Ralph's little visit was a lamp in the darkness; for the
+hour that she sat with him her ache for herself became somehow her ache
+for HIM. She felt to-day as if he had been her brother. She had never
+had a brother, but if she had and she were in trouble and he were dying,
+he would be dear to her as Ralph was. Ah yes, if Gilbert was jealous of
+her there was perhaps some reason; it didn't make Gilbert look better to
+sit for half an hour with Ralph. It was not that they talked of him--it
+was not that she complained. His name was never uttered between them. It
+was simply that Ralph was generous and that her husband was not. There
+was something in Ralph's talk, in his smile, in the mere fact of his
+being in Rome, that made the blasted circle round which she walked more
+spacious. He made her feel the good of the world; he made her feel what
+might have been. He was after all as intelligent as Osmond--quite apart
+from his being better. And thus it seemed to her an act of devotion
+to conceal her misery from him. She concealed it elaborately; she
+was perpetually, in their talk, hanging out curtains and before her
+again--it lived before her again,--it had never had time to die--that
+morning in the garden at Florence when he had warned her against Osmond.
+She had only to close her eyes to see the place, to hear his voice, to
+feel the warm, sweet air. How could he have known? What a mystery,
+what a wonder of wisdom! As intelligent as Gilbert? He was much more
+intelligent--to arrive at such a judgement as that. Gilbert had never
+been so deep, so just. She had told him then that from her at least he
+should never know if he was right; and this was what she was taking
+care of now. It gave her plenty to do; there was passion, exaltation,
+religion in it. Women find their religion sometimes in strange
+exercises, and Isabel at present, in playing a part before her cousin,
+had an idea that she was doing him a kindness. It would have been a
+kindness perhaps if he had been for a single instant a dupe. As it was,
+the kindness consisted mainly in trying to make him believe that he had
+once wounded her greatly and that the event had put him to shame, but
+that, as she was very generous and he was so ill, she bore him no grudge
+and even considerately forbore to flaunt her happiness in his face.
+Ralph smiled to himself, as he lay on his sofa, at this extraordinary
+form of consideration; but he forgave her for having forgiven him. She
+didn't wish him to have the pain of knowing she was unhappy: that was
+the great thing, and it didn't matter that such knowledge would rather
+have righted him.
+
+For herself, she lingered in the soundless saloon long after the fire
+had gone out. There was no danger of her feeling the cold; she was in
+a fever. She heard the small hours strike, and then the great ones, but
+her vigil took no heed of time. Her mind, assailed by visions, was in a
+state of extraordinary activity, and her visions might as well come to
+her there, where she sat up to meet them, as on her pillow, to make a
+mockery of rest. As I have said, she believed she was not defiant, and
+what could be a better proof of it than that she should linger there
+half the night, trying to persuade herself that there was no reason why
+Pansy shouldn't be married as you would put a letter in the post-office?
+When the clock struck four she got up; she was going to bed at last, for
+the lamp had long since gone out and the candles burned down to their
+sockets. But even then she stopped again in the middle of the room
+and stood there gazing at a remembered vision--that of her husband and
+Madame Merle unconsciously and familiarly associated.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII
+
+Three nights after this she took Pansy to a great party, to which
+Osmond, who never went to dances, did not accompany them. Pansy was as
+ready for a dance as ever; she was not of a generalising turn and had
+not extended to other pleasures the interdict she had seen placed on
+those of love. If she was biding her time or hoping to circumvent her
+father she must have had a prevision of success. Isabel thought this
+unlikely; it was much more likely that Pansy had simply determined to
+be a good girl. She had never had such a chance, and she had a proper
+esteem for chances. She carried herself no less attentively than usual
+and kept no less anxious an eye upon her vaporous skirts; she held her
+bouquet very tight and counted over the flowers for the twentieth time.
+She made Isabel feel old; it seemed so long since she had been in a
+flutter about a ball. Pansy, who was greatly admired, was never in want
+of partners, and very soon after their arrival she gave Isabel, who was
+not dancing, her bouquet to hold. Isabel had rendered her this service
+for some minutes when she became aware of the near presence of Edward
+Rosier. He stood before her; he had lost his affable smile and wore a
+look of almost military resolution. The change in his appearance would
+have made Isabel smile if she had not felt his case to be at bottom
+a hard one: he had always smelt so much more of heliotrope than of
+gunpowder. He looked at her a moment somewhat fiercely, as if to notify
+her he was dangerous, and then dropped his eyes on her bouquet. After
+he had inspected it his glance softened and he said quickly: "It's all
+pansies; it must be hers!"
+
+Isabel smiled kindly. "Yes, it's hers; she gave it to me to hold."
+
+"May I hold it a little, Mrs. Osmond?" the poor young man asked.
+
+"No, I can't trust you; I'm afraid you wouldn't give it back."
+
+"I'm not sure that I should; I should leave the house with it instantly.
+But may I not at least have a single flower?"
+
+Isabel hesitated a moment, and then, smiling still, held out the
+bouquet. "Choose one yourself. It's frightful what I'm doing for you."
+
+"Ah, if you do no more than this, Mrs. Osmond!" Rosier exclaimed with
+his glass in one eye, carefully choosing his flower.
+
+"Don't put it into your button-hole," she said. "Don't for the world!"
+
+"I should like her to see it. She has refused to dance with me, but I
+wish to show her that I believe in her still."
+
+"It's very well to show it to her, but it's out of place to show it to
+others. Her father has told her not to dance with you."
+
+"And is that all YOU can do for me? I expected more from you, Mrs.
+Osmond," said the young man in a tone of fine general reference. "You
+know our acquaintance goes back very far--quite into the days of our
+innocent childhood."
+
+"Don't make me out too old," Isabel patiently answered. "You come back
+to that very often, and I've never denied it. But I must tell you that,
+old friends as we are, if you had done me the honour to ask me to marry
+you I should have refused you on the spot."
+
+"Ah, you don't esteem me then. Say at once that you think me a mere
+Parisian trifler!"
+
+"I esteem you very much, but I'm not in love with you. What I mean by
+that, of course, is that I'm not in love with you for Pansy."
+
+"Very good; I see. You pity me--that's all." And Edward Rosier looked
+all round, inconsequently, with his single glass. It was a revelation to
+him that people shouldn't be more pleased; but he was at least too proud
+to show that the deficiency struck him as general.
+
+Isabel for a moment said nothing. His manner and appearance had not the
+dignity of the deepest tragedy; his little glass, among other things,
+was against that. But she suddenly felt touched; her own unhappiness,
+after all, had something in common with his, and it came over her, more
+than before, that here, in recognisable, if not in romantic form,
+was the most affecting thing in the world--young love struggling with
+adversity. "Would you really be very kind to her?" she finally asked in
+a low tone.
+
+He dropped his eyes devoutly and raised the little flower that he held
+in his fingers to his lips. Then he looked at her. "You pity me; but
+don't you pity HER a little?"
+
+"I don't know; I'm not sure. She'll always enjoy life."
+
+"It will depend on what you call life!" Mr. Rosier effectively said.
+"She won't enjoy being tortured."
+
+"There'll be nothing of that."
+
+"I'm glad to hear it. She knows what she's about. You'll see."
+
+"I think she does, and she'll never disobey her father. But she's coming
+back to me," Isabel added, "and I must beg you to go away."
+
+Rosier lingered a moment till Pansy came in sight on the arm of her
+cavalier; he stood just long enough to look her in the face. Then he
+walked away, holding up his head; and the manner in which he achieved
+this sacrifice to expediency convinced Isabel he was very much in love.
+
+Pansy, who seldom got disarranged in dancing, looking perfectly fresh
+and cool after this exercise, waited a moment and then took back her
+bouquet. Isabel watched her and saw she was counting the flowers;
+whereupon she said to herself that decidedly there were deeper forces at
+play than she had recognised. Pansy had seen Rosier turn away, but she
+said nothing to Isabel about him; she talked only of her partner, after
+he had made his bow and retired; of the music, the floor, the rare
+misfortune of having already torn her dress. Isabel was sure, however,
+she had discovered her lover to have abstracted a flower; though this
+knowledge was not needed to account for the dutiful grace with which she
+responded to the appeal of her next partner. That perfect amenity under
+acute constraint was part of a larger system. She was again led forth
+by a flushed young man, this time carrying her bouquet; and she had
+not been absent many minutes when Isabel saw Lord Warburton advancing
+through the crowd. He presently drew near and bade her good-evening;
+she had not seen him since the day before. He looked about him, and then
+"Where's the little maid?" he asked. It was in this manner that he had
+formed the harmless habit of alluding to Miss Osmond.
+
+"She's dancing," said Isabel. "You'll see her somewhere."
+
+He looked among the dancers and at last caught Pansy's eye. "She sees
+me, but she won't notice me," he then remarked. "Are you not dancing?"
+
+"As you see, I'm a wall-flower."
+
+"Won't you dance with me?"
+
+"Thank you; I'd rather you should dance with the little maid."
+
+"One needn't prevent the other--especially as she's engaged."
+
+"She's not engaged for everything, and you can reserve yourself. She
+dances very hard, and you'll be the fresher."
+
+"She dances beautifully," said Lord Warburton, following her with his
+eyes. "Ah, at last," he added, "she has given me a smile." He stood
+there with his handsome, easy, important physiognomy; and as Isabel
+observed him it came over her, as it had done before, that it was
+strange a man of his mettle should take an interest in a little maid. It
+struck her as a great incongruity; neither Pansy's small fascinations,
+nor his own kindness, his good-nature, not even his need for amusement,
+which was extreme and constant, were sufficient to account for it. "I
+should like to dance with you," he went on in a moment, turning back to
+Isabel; "but I think I like even better to talk with you."
+
+"Yes, it's better, and it's more worthy of your dignity. Great statesmen
+oughtn't to waltz."
+
+"Don't be cruel. Why did you recommend me then to dance with Miss
+Osmond?"
+
+"Ah, that's different. If you danced with her it would look simply like
+a piece of kindness--as if you were doing it for her amusement. If you
+dance with me you'll look as if you were doing it for your own."
+
+"And pray haven't I a right to amuse myself?"
+
+"No, not with the affairs of the British Empire on your hands."
+
+"The British Empire be hanged! You're always laughing at it."
+
+"Amuse yourself with talking to me," said Isabel.
+
+"I'm not sure it's really a recreation. You're too pointed; I've always
+to be defending myself. And you strike me as more than usually dangerous
+to-night. Will you absolutely not dance?"
+
+"I can't leave my place. Pansy must find me here."
+
+He was silent a little. "You're wonderfully good to her," he said
+suddenly.
+
+Isabel stared a little and smiled. "Can you imagine one's not being?"
+
+"No indeed. I know how one is charmed with her. But you must have done a
+great deal for her."
+
+"I've taken her out with me," said Isabel, smiling still. "And I've seen
+that she has proper clothes."
+
+"Your society must have been a great benefit to her. You've talked to
+her, advised her, helped her to develop."
+
+"Ah yes, if she isn't the rose she has lived near it."
+
+She laughed, and her companion did as much; but there was a certain
+visible preoccupation in his face which interfered with complete
+hilarity. "We all try to live as near it as we can," he said after a
+moment's hesitation.
+
+Isabel turned away; Pansy was about to be restored to her, and she
+welcomed the diversion. We know how much she liked Lord Warburton; she
+thought him pleasanter even than the sum of his merits warranted; there
+was something in his friendship that appeared a kind of resource in case
+of indefinite need; it was like having a large balance at the bank. She
+felt happier when he was in the room; there was something reassuring in
+his approach; the sound of his voice reminded her of the beneficence of
+nature. Yet for all that it didn't suit her that he should be too near
+her, that he should take too much of her good-will for granted. She was
+afraid of that; she averted herself from it; she wished he wouldn't. She
+felt that if he should come too near, as it were, it might be in her to
+flash out and bid him keep his distance. Pansy came back to Isabel with
+another rent in her skirt, which was the inevitable consequence of the
+first and which she displayed to Isabel with serious eyes. There were
+too many gentlemen in uniform; they wore those dreadful spurs, which
+were fatal to the dresses of little maids. It hereupon became apparent
+that the resources of women are innumerable. Isabel devoted herself
+to Pansy's desecrated drapery; she fumbled for a pin and repaired the
+injury; she smiled and listened to her account of her adventures. Her
+attention, her sympathy were immediate and active; and they were
+in direct proportion to a sentiment with which they were in no way
+connected--a lively conjecture as to whether Lord Warburton might be
+trying to make love to her. It was not simply his words just then; it
+was others as well; it was the reference and the continuity. This was
+what she thought about while she pinned up Pansy's dress. If it were
+so, as she feared, he was of course unwitting; he himself had not taken
+account of his intention. But this made it none the more auspicious,
+made the situation none less impossible. The sooner he should get back
+into right relations with things the better. He immediately began
+to talk to Pansy--on whom it was certainly mystifying to see that he
+dropped a smile of chastened devotion. Pansy replied, as usual, with a
+little air of conscientious aspiration; he had to bend toward her a good
+deal in conversation, and her eyes, as usual, wandered up and down his
+robust person as if he had offered it to her for exhibition. She always
+seemed a little frightened; yet her fright was not of the painful
+character that suggests dislike; on the contrary, she looked as if she
+knew that he knew she liked him. Isabel left them together a little and
+wandered toward a friend whom she saw near and with whom she talked till
+the music of the following dance began, for which she knew Pansy to be
+also engaged. The girl joined her presently, with a little fluttered
+flush, and Isabel, who scrupulously took Osmond's view of his daughter's
+complete dependence, consigned her, as a precious and momentary loan,
+to her appointed partner. About all this matter she had her own
+imaginations, her own reserves; there were moments when Pansy's extreme
+adhesiveness made each of them, to her sense, look foolish. But Osmond
+had given her a sort of tableau of her position as his daughter's
+duenna, which consisted of gracious alternations of concession and
+contraction; and there were directions of his which she liked to think
+she obeyed to the letter. Perhaps, as regards some of them, it was
+because her doing so appeared to reduce them to the absurd.
+
+After Pansy had been led away, she found Lord Warburton drawing near her
+again. She rested her eyes on him steadily; she wished she could sound
+his thoughts. But he had no appearance of confusion. "She has promised
+to dance with me later," he said.
+
+"I'm glad of that. I suppose you've engaged her for the cotillion."
+
+At this he looked a little awkward. "No, I didn't ask her for that. It's
+a quadrille."
+
+"Ah, you're not clever!" said Isabel almost angrily. "I told her to keep
+the cotillion in case you should ask for it."
+
+"Poor little maid, fancy that!" And Lord Warburton laughed frankly. "Of
+course I will if you like."
+
+"If I like? Oh, if you dance with her only because I like it--!"
+
+"I'm afraid I bore her. She seems to have a lot of young fellows on her
+book."
+
+Isabel dropped her eyes, reflecting rapidly; Lord Warburton stood there
+looking at her and she felt his eyes on her face. She felt much inclined
+to ask him to remove them. She didn't do so, however; she only said to
+him, after a minute, with her own raised: "Please let me understand."
+
+"Understand what?"
+
+"You told me ten days ago that you'd like to marry my stepdaughter.
+You've not forgotten it!"
+
+"Forgotten it? I wrote to Mr. Osmond about it this morning."
+
+"Ah," said Isabel, "he didn't mention to me that he had heard from you."
+
+Lord Warburton stammered a little. "I--I didn't send my letter."
+
+"Perhaps you forgot THAT."
+
+"No, I wasn't satisfied with it. It's an awkward sort of letter to
+write, you know. But I shall send it to-night."
+
+"At three o'clock in the morning?"
+
+"I mean later, in the course of the day."
+
+"Very good. You still wish then to marry her?"
+
+"Very much indeed."
+
+"Aren't you afraid that you'll bore her?" And as her companion stared at
+this enquiry Isabel added: "If she can't dance with you for half an hour
+how will she be able to dance with you for life?"
+
+"Ah," said Lord Warburton readily, "I'll let her dance with other
+people! About the cotillion, the fact is I thought that you--that you--"
+
+"That I would do it with you? I told you I'd do nothing."
+
+"Exactly; so that while it's going on I might find some quiet corner
+where we may sit down and talk."
+
+"Oh," said Isabel gravely, "you're much too considerate of me."
+
+When the cotillion came Pansy was found to have engaged herself,
+thinking, in perfect humility, that Lord Warburton had no intentions.
+Isabel recommended him to seek another partner, but he assured her that
+he would dance with no one but herself. As, however, she had, in spite
+of the remonstrances of her hostess, declined other invitations on the
+ground that she was not dancing at all, it was not possible for her to
+make an exception in Lord Warburton's favour.
+
+"After all I don't care to dance," he said; "it's a barbarous amusement:
+I'd much rather talk." And he intimated that he had discovered exactly
+the corner he had been looking for--a quiet nook in one of the smaller
+rooms, where the music would come to them faintly and not interfere
+with conversation. Isabel had decided to let him carry out his idea; she
+wished to be satisfied. She wandered away from the ball-room with him,
+though she knew her husband desired she should not lose sight of his
+daughter. It was with his daughter's pretendant, however; that would
+make it right for Osmond. On her way out of the ball-room she came upon
+Edward Rosier, who was standing in a doorway, with folded arms, looking
+at the dance in the attitude of a young man without illusions. She
+stopped a moment and asked him if he were not dancing.
+
+"Certainly not, if I can't dance with HER!" he answered.
+
+"You had better go away then," said Isabel with the manner of good
+counsel.
+
+"I shall not go till she does!" And he let Lord Warburton pass without
+giving him a look.
+
+This nobleman, however, had noticed the melancholy youth, and he
+asked Isabel who her dismal friend was, remarking that he had seen him
+somewhere before.
+
+"It's the young man I've told you about, who's in love with Pansy."
+
+"Ah yes, I remember. He looks rather bad."
+
+"He has reason. My husband won't listen to him."
+
+"What's the matter with him?" Lord Warburton enquired. "He seems very
+harmless."
+
+"He hasn't money enough, and he isn't very clever."
+
+Lord Warburton listened with interest; he seemed struck with this
+account of Edward Rosier. "Dear me; he looked a well-set-up young
+fellow."
+
+"So he is, but my husband's very particular."
+
+"Oh, I see." And Lord Warburton paused a moment. "How much money has he
+got?" he then ventured to ask.
+
+"Some forty thousand francs a year."
+
+"Sixteen hundred pounds? Ah, but that's very good, you know."
+
+"So I think. My husband, however, has larger ideas."
+
+"Yes; I've noticed that your husband has very large ideas. Is he really
+an idiot, the young man?"
+
+"An idiot? Not in the least; he's charming. When he was twelve years old
+I myself was in love with him."
+
+"He doesn't look much more than twelve to-day," Lord Warburton rejoined
+vaguely, looking about him. Then with more point, "Don't you think we
+might sit here?" he asked.
+
+"Wherever you please." The room was a sort of boudoir, pervaded by a
+subdued, rose-coloured light; a lady and gentleman moved out of it as
+our friends came in. "It's very kind of you to take such an interest in
+Mr. Rosier," Isabel said.
+
+"He seems to me rather ill-treated. He had a face a yard long. I
+wondered what ailed him."
+
+"You're a just man," said Isabel. "You've a kind thought even for a
+rival."
+
+Lord Warburton suddenly turned with a stare. "A rival! Do you call him
+my rival?"
+
+"Surely--if you both wish to marry the same person."
+
+"Yes--but since he has no chance!"
+
+"I like you, however that may be, for putting your self in his place. It
+shows imagination."
+
+"You like me for it?" And Lord Warburton looked at her with an uncertain
+eye. "I think you mean you're laughing at me for it."
+
+"Yes, I'm laughing at you a little. But I like you as somebody to laugh
+at."
+
+"Ah well, then, let me enter into his situation a little more. What do
+you suppose one could do for him?"
+
+"Since I have been praising your imagination I'll leave you to imagine
+that yourself," Isabel said. "Pansy too would like you for that."
+
+"Miss Osmond? Ah, she, I flatter myself, likes me already."
+
+"Very much, I think."
+
+He waited a little; he was still questioning her face. "Well then, I
+don't understand you. You don't mean that she cares for him?"
+
+A quick blush sprang to his brow. "You told me she would have no wish
+apart from her father's, and as I've gathered that he would favour
+me--!" He paused a little and then suggested "Don't you see?" through
+his blush.
+
+"Yes, I told you she has an immense wish to please her father, and that
+it would probably take her very far."
+
+"That seems to me a very proper feeling," said Lord Warburton.
+
+"Certainly; it's a very proper feeling." Isabel remained silent for some
+moments; the room continued empty; the sound of the music reached them
+with its richness softened by the interposing apartments. Then at last
+she said: "But it hardly strikes me as the sort of feeling to which a
+man would wish to be indebted for a wife."
+
+"I don't know; if the wife's a good one and he thinks she does well!"
+
+"Yes, of course you must think that."
+
+"I do; I can't help it. You call that very British, of course."
+
+"No, I don't. I think Pansy would do wonderfully well to marry you,
+and I don't know who should know it better than you. But you're not in
+love."
+
+"Ah, yes I am, Mrs. Osmond!"
+
+Isabel shook her head. "You like to think you are while you sit here
+with me. But that's not how you strike me."
+
+"I'm not like the young man in the doorway. I admit that. But what makes
+it so unnatural? Could any one in the world be more loveable than Miss
+Osmond?"
+
+"No one, possibly. But love has nothing to do with good reasons."
+
+"I don't agree with you. I'm delighted to have good reasons."
+
+"Of course you are. If you were really in love you wouldn't care a straw
+for them."
+
+"Ah, really in love--really in love!" Lord Warburton exclaimed, folding
+his arms, leaning back his head and stretching himself a little. "You
+must remember that I'm forty-two years old. I won't pretend I'm as I
+once was."
+
+"Well, if you're sure," said Isabel, "it's all right."
+
+He answered nothing; he sat there, with his head back, looking before
+him. Abruptly, however, he changed his position; he turned quickly to
+his friend. "Why are you so unwilling, so sceptical?" She met his eyes,
+and for a moment they looked straight at each other. If she wished to
+be satisfied she saw something that satisfied her; she saw in his
+expression the gleam of an idea that she was uneasy on her own
+account--that she was perhaps even in fear. It showed a suspicion, not a
+hope, but such as it was it told her what she wanted to know. Not for an
+instant should he suspect her of detecting in his proposal of marrying
+her step-daughter an implication of increased nearness to herself, or
+of thinking it, on such a betrayal, ominous. In that brief, extremely
+personal gaze, however, deeper meanings passed between them than they
+were conscious of at the moment.
+
+"My dear Lord Warburton," she said, smiling, "you may do, so far as I'm
+concerned, whatever comes into your head."
+
+And with this she got up and wandered into the adjoining room, where,
+within her companion's view, she was immediately addressed by a pair of
+gentlemen, high personages in the Roman world, who met her as if they
+had been looking for her. While she talked with them she found herself
+regretting she had moved; it looked a little like running away--all the
+more as Lord Warburton didn't follow her. She was glad of this, however,
+and at any rate she was satisfied. She was so well satisfied that
+when, in passing back into the ball-room, she found Edward Rosier still
+planted in the doorway, she stopped and spoke to him again. "You did
+right not to go away. I've some comfort for you."
+
+"I need it," the young man softly wailed, "when I see you so awfully
+thick with him!"
+
+"Don't speak of him; I'll do what I can for you. I'm afraid it won't be
+much, but what I can I'll do."
+
+He looked at her with gloomy obliqueness. "What has suddenly brought you
+round?"
+
+"The sense that you are an inconvenience in doorways!" she answered,
+smiling as she passed him. Half an hour later she took leave, with
+Pansy, and at the foot of the staircase the two ladies, with many
+other departing guests, waited a while for their carriage. Just as it
+approached Lord Warburton came out of the house and assisted them to
+reach their vehicle. He stood a moment at the door, asking Pansy if
+she had amused herself; and she, having answered him, fell back with a
+little air of fatigue. Then Isabel, at the window, detaining him by
+a movement of her finger, murmured gently: "Don't forget to send your
+letter to her father!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV
+
+The Countess Gemini was often extremely bored--bored, in her own phrase,
+to extinction. She had not been extinguished, however, and she
+struggled bravely enough with her destiny, which had been to marry an
+unaccommodating Florentine who insisted upon living in his native town,
+where he enjoyed such consideration as might attach to a gentleman whose
+talent for losing at cards had not the merit of being incidental to an
+obliging disposition. The Count Gemini was not liked even by those who
+won from him; and he bore a name which, having a measurable value in
+Florence, was, like the local coin of the old Italian states, without
+currency in other parts of the peninsula. In Rome he was simply a very
+dull Florentine, and it is not remarkable that he should not have cared
+to pay frequent visits to a place where, to carry it off, his dulness
+needed more explanation than was convenient. The Countess lived with her
+eyes upon Rome, and it was the constant grievance of her life that she
+had not an habitation there. She was ashamed to say how seldom she had
+been allowed to visit that city; it scarcely made the matter better that
+there were other members of the Florentine nobility who never had been
+there at all. She went whenever she could; that was all she could say.
+Or rather not all, but all she said she could say. In fact she had much
+more to say about it, and had often set forth the reasons why she hated
+Florence and wished to end her days in the shadow of Saint Peter's. They
+are reasons, however, that do not closely concern us, and were usually
+summed up in the declaration that Rome, in short, was the Eternal City
+and that Florence was simply a pretty little place like any other. The
+Countess apparently needed to connect the idea of eternity with
+her amusements. She was convinced that society was infinitely more
+interesting in Rome, where you met celebrities all winter at evening
+parties. At Florence there were no celebrities; none at least that one
+had heard of. Since her brother's marriage her impatience had greatly
+increased; she was so sure his wife had a more brilliant life than
+herself. She was not so intellectual as Isabel, but she was intellectual
+enough to do justice to Rome--not to the ruins and the catacombs, not
+even perhaps to the monuments and museums, the church ceremonies and the
+scenery; but certainly to all the rest. She heard a great deal about
+her sister-in-law and knew perfectly that Isabel was having a beautiful
+time. She had indeed seen it for herself on the only occasion on which
+she had enjoyed the hospitality of Palazzo Roccanera. She had spent a
+week there during the first winter of her brother's marriage, but she
+had not been encouraged to renew this satisfaction. Osmond didn't want
+her--that she was perfectly aware of; but she would have gone all the
+same, for after all she didn't care two straws about Osmond. It was
+her husband who wouldn't let her, and the money question was always
+a trouble. Isabel had been very nice; the Countess, who had liked her
+sister-in-law from the first, had not been blinded by envy to Isabel's
+personal merits. She had always observed that she got on better with
+clever women than with silly ones like herself; the silly ones could
+never understand her wisdom, whereas the clever ones--the really
+clever ones--always understood her silliness. It appeared to her that,
+different as they were in appearance and general style, Isabel and she
+had somewhere a patch of common ground that they would set their feet
+upon at last. It was not very large, but it was firm, and they should
+both know it when once they had really touched it. And then she lived,
+with Mrs. Osmond, under the influence of a pleasant surprise; she was
+constantly expecting that Isabel would "look down" on her, and she as
+constantly saw this operation postponed. She asked herself when it would
+begin, like fire-works, or Lent, or the opera season; not that she
+cared much, but she wondered what kept it in abeyance. Her sister-in-law
+regarded her with none but level glances and expressed for the poor
+Countess as little contempt as admiration. In reality Isabel would as
+soon have thought of despising her as of passing a moral judgement on a
+grasshopper. She was not indifferent to her husband's sister, however;
+she was rather a little afraid of her. She wondered at her; she thought
+her very extraordinary. The Countess seemed to her to have no soul; she
+was like a bright rare shell, with a polished surface and a remarkably
+pink lip, in which something would rattle when you shook it. This rattle
+was apparently the Countess's spiritual principle, a little loose nut
+that tumbled about inside of her. She was too odd for disdain, too
+anomalous for comparisons. Isabel would have invited her again (there
+was no question of inviting the Count); but Osmond, after his marriage,
+had not scrupled to say frankly that Amy was a fool of the worst
+species--a fool whose folly had the irrepressibility of genius. He said
+at another time that she had no heart; and he added in a moment that she
+had given it all away--in small pieces, like a frosted wedding-cake.
+The fact of not having been asked was of course another obstacle to
+the Countess's going again to Rome; but at the period with which this
+history has now to deal she was in receipt of an invitation to spend
+several weeks at Palazzo Roccanera. The proposal had come from Osmond
+himself, who wrote to his sister that she must be prepared to be very
+quiet. Whether or no she found in this phrase all the meaning he had
+put into it I am unable to say; but she accepted the invitation on any
+terms. She was curious, moreover; for one of the impressions of her
+former visit had been that her brother had found his match. Before the
+marriage she had been sorry for Isabel, so sorry as to have had serious
+thoughts--if any of the Countess's thoughts were serious--of putting
+her on her guard. But she had let that pass, and after a little she was
+reassured. Osmond was as lofty as ever, but his wife would not be an
+easy victim. The Countess was not very exact at measurements, but it
+seemed to her that if Isabel should draw herself up she would be the
+taller spirit of the two. What she wanted to learn now was whether
+Isabel had drawn herself up; it would give her immense pleasure to see
+Osmond overtopped.
+
+Several days before she was to start for Rome a servant brought her the
+card of a visitor--a card with the simple superscription "Henrietta C.
+Stackpole." The Countess pressed her finger-tips to her forehead; she
+didn't remember to have known any such Henrietta as that. The servant
+then remarked that the lady had requested him to say that if the
+Countess should not recognise her name she would know her well enough on
+seeing her. By the time she appeared before her visitor she had in fact
+reminded herself that there was once a literary lady at Mrs. Touchett's;
+the only woman of letters she had ever encountered--that is the only
+modern one, since she was the daughter of a defunct poetess. She
+recognised Miss Stackpole immediately, the more so that Miss Stackpole
+seemed perfectly unchanged; and the Countess, who was thoroughly
+good-natured, thought it rather fine to be called on by a person of that
+sort of distinction. She wondered if Miss Stackpole had come on account
+of her mother--whether she had heard of the American Corinne. Her mother
+was not at all like Isabel's friend; the Countess could see at a
+glance that this lady was much more contemporary; and she received
+an impression of the improvements that were taking place--chiefly in
+distant countries--in the character (the professional character) of
+literary ladies. Her mother had been used to wear a Roman scarf thrown
+over a pair of shoulders timorously bared of their tight black velvet
+(oh the old clothes!) and a gold laurel-wreath set upon a multitude of
+glossy ringlets. She had spoken softly and vaguely, with the accent of
+her "Creole" ancestors, as she always confessed; she sighed a great deal
+and was not at all enterprising. But Henrietta, the Countess could see,
+was always closely buttoned and compactly braided; there was something
+brisk and business-like in her appearance; her manner was almost
+conscientiously familiar. It was as impossible to imagine her ever
+vaguely sighing as to imagine a letter posted without its address. The
+Countess could not but feel that the correspondent of the Interviewer
+was much more in the movement than the American Corinne. She explained
+that she had called on the Countess because she was the only person she
+knew in Florence, and that when she visited a foreign city she liked to
+see something more than superficial travellers. She knew Mrs. Touchett,
+but Mrs. Touchett was in America, and even if she had been in Florence
+Henrietta would not have put herself out for her, since Mrs. Touchett
+was not one of her admirations.
+
+"Do you mean by that that I am?" the Countess graciously asked.
+
+"Well, I like you better than I do her," said Miss Stackpole. "I seem to
+remember that when I saw you before you were very interesting. I don't
+know whether it was an accident or whether it's your usual style. At
+any rate I was a good deal struck with what you said. I made use of it
+afterwards in print."
+
+"Dear me!" cried the Countess, staring and half-alarmed; "I had no idea
+I ever said anything remarkable! I wish I had known it at the time."
+
+"It was about the position of woman in this city," Miss Stackpole
+remarked. "You threw a good deal of light upon it."
+
+"The position of woman's very uncomfortable. Is that what you mean? And
+you wrote it down and published it?" the Countess went on. "Ah, do let
+me see it!"
+
+"I'll write to them to send you the paper if you like," Henrietta said.
+"I didn't mention your name; I only said a lady of high rank. And then I
+quoted your views."
+
+The Countess threw herself hastily backward, tossing up her clasped
+hands. "Do you know I'm rather sorry you didn't mention my name? I
+should have rather liked to see my name in the papers. I forget what my
+views were; I have so many! But I'm not ashamed of them. I'm not at all
+like my brother--I suppose you know my brother? He thinks it a kind of
+scandal to be put in the papers; if you were to quote him he'd never
+forgive you."
+
+"He needn't be afraid; I shall never refer to him," said Miss Stackpole
+with bland dryness. "That's another reason," she added, "why I wanted to
+come to see you. You know Mr. Osmond married my dearest friend."
+
+"Ah, yes; you were a friend of Isabel's. I was trying to think what I
+knew about you."
+
+"I'm quite willing to be known by that," Henrietta declared. "But that
+isn't what your brother likes to know me by. He has tried to break up my
+relations with Isabel."
+
+"Don't permit it," said the Countess.
+
+"That's what I want to talk about. I'm going to Rome."
+
+"So am I!" the Countess cried. "We'll go together."
+
+"With great pleasure. And when I write about my journey I'll mention you
+by name as my companion."
+
+The Countess sprang from her chair and came and sat on the sofa beside
+her visitor. "Ah, you must send me the paper! My husband won't like it,
+but he need never see it. Besides, he doesn't know how to read."
+
+Henrietta's large eyes became immense. "Doesn't know how to read? May I
+put that into my letter?"
+
+"Into your letter?"
+
+"In the Interviewer. That's my paper."
+
+"Oh yes, if you like; with his name. Are you going to stay with Isabel?"
+
+Henrietta held up her head, gazing a little in silence at her hostess.
+"She has not asked me. I wrote to her I was coming, and she answered
+that she would engage a room for me at a pension. She gave no reason."
+
+The Countess listened with extreme interest. "The reason's Osmond," she
+pregnantly remarked.
+
+"Isabel ought to make a stand," said Miss Stackpole. "I'm afraid she has
+changed a great deal. I told her she would."
+
+"I'm sorry to hear it; I hoped she would have her own way. Why doesn't
+my brother like you?" the Countess ingenuously added.
+
+"I don't know and I don't care. He's perfectly welcome not to like me;
+I don't want every one to like me; I should think less of myself if some
+people did. A journalist can't hope to do much good unless he gets a
+good deal hated; that's the way he knows how his work goes on. And it's
+just the same for a lady. But I didn't expect it of Isabel."
+
+"Do you mean that she hates you?" the Countess enquired.
+
+"I don't know; I want to see. That's what I'm going to Rome for."
+
+"Dear me, what a tiresome errand!" the Countess exclaimed.
+
+"She doesn't write to me in the same way; it's easy to see there's a
+difference. If you know anything," Miss Stackpole went on, "I should
+like to hear it beforehand, so as to decide on the line I shall take."
+
+The Countess thrust out her under lip and gave a gradual shrug. "I know
+very little; I see and hear very little of Osmond. He doesn't like me
+any better than he appears to like you."
+
+"Yet you're not a lady correspondent," said Henrietta pensively.
+
+"Oh, he has plenty of reasons. Nevertheless they've invited me--I'm
+to stay in the house!" And the Countess smiled almost fiercely; her
+exultation, for the moment, took little account of Miss Stackpole's
+disappointment.
+
+This lady, however, regarded it very placidly. "I shouldn't have gone if
+she HAD asked me. That is I think I shouldn't; and I'm glad I hadn't
+to make up my mind. It would have been a very difficult question. I
+shouldn't have liked to turn away from her, and yet I shouldn't have
+been happy under her roof. A pension will suit me very well. But that's
+not all."
+
+"Rome's very good just now," said the Countess; "there are all sorts of
+brilliant people. Did you ever hear of Lord Warburton?"
+
+"Hear of him? I know him very well. Do you consider him very brilliant?"
+Henrietta enquired.
+
+"I don't know him, but I'm told he's extremely grand seigneur. He's
+making love to Isabel."
+
+"Making love to her?"
+
+"So I'm told; I don't know the details," said the Countess lightly. "But
+Isabel's pretty safe."
+
+Henrietta gazed earnestly at her companion; for a moment she said
+nothing. "When do you go to Rome?" she enquired abruptly.
+
+"Not for a week, I'm afraid."
+
+"I shall go to-morrow," Henrietta said. "I think I had better not wait."
+
+"Dear me, I'm sorry; I'm having some dresses made. I'm told Isabel
+receives immensely. But I shall see you there; I shall call on you
+at your pension." Henrietta sat still--she was lost in thought; and
+suddenly the Countess cried: "Ah, but if you don't go with me you can't
+describe our journey!"
+
+Miss Stackpole seemed unmoved by this consideration; she was thinking
+of something else and presently expressed it. "I'm not sure that I
+understand you about Lord Warburton."
+
+"Understand me? I mean he's very nice, that's all."
+
+"Do you consider it nice to make love to married women?" Henrietta
+enquired with unprecedented distinctness.
+
+The Countess stared, and then with a little violent laugh: "It's certain
+all the nice men do it. Get married and you'll see!" she added.
+
+"That idea would be enough to prevent me," said Miss Stackpole. "I
+should want my own husband; I shouldn't want any one else's. Do you mean
+that Isabel's guilty--guilty--?" And she paused a little, choosing her
+expression.
+
+"Do I mean she's guilty? Oh dear no, not yet, I hope. I only mean that
+Osmond's very tiresome and that Lord Warburton, as I hear, is a great
+deal at the house. I'm afraid you're scandalised."
+
+"No, I'm just anxious," Henrietta said.
+
+"Ah, you're not very complimentary to Isabel! You should have more
+confidence. I'll tell you," the Countess added quickly: "if it will be a
+comfort to you I engage to draw him off."
+
+Miss Stackpole answered at first only with the deeper solemnity of her
+gaze. "You don't understand me," she said after a while. "I haven't the
+idea you seem to suppose. I'm not afraid for Isabel--in that way. I'm
+only afraid she's unhappy--that's what I want to get at."
+
+The Countess gave a dozen turns of the head; she looked impatient and
+sarcastic. "That may very well be; for my part I should like to know
+whether Osmond is." Miss Stackpole had begun a little to bore her.
+
+"If she's really changed that must be at the bottom of it," Henrietta
+went on.
+
+"You'll see; she'll tell you," said the Countess.
+
+"Ah, she may NOT tell me--that's what I'm afraid of!"
+
+"Well, if Osmond isn't amusing himself--in his own old way--I flatter
+myself I shall discover it," the Countess rejoined.
+
+"I don't care for that," said Henrietta.
+
+"I do immensely! If Isabel's unhappy I'm very sorry for her, but I can't
+help it. I might tell her something that would make her worse, but I
+can't tell her anything that would console her. What did she go and
+marry him for? If she had listened to me she'd have got rid of him. I'll
+forgive her, however, if I find she has made things hot for him! If she
+has simply allowed him to trample upon her I don't know that I shall
+even pity her. But I don't think that's very likely. I count upon
+finding that if she's miserable she has at least made HIM so."
+
+Henrietta got up; these seemed to her, naturally, very dreadful
+expectations. She honestly believed she had no desire to see Mr. Osmond
+unhappy; and indeed he could not be for her the subject of a flight of
+fancy. She was on the whole rather disappointed in the Countess, whose
+mind moved in a narrower circle than she had imagined, though with a
+capacity for coarseness even there. "It will be better if they love each
+other," she said for edification.
+
+"They can't. He can't love any one."
+
+"I presumed that was the case. But it only aggravates my fear for
+Isabel. I shall positively start to-morrow."
+
+"Isabel certainly has devotees," said the Countess, smiling very
+vividly. "I declare I don't pity her."
+
+"It may be I can't assist her," Miss Stackpole pursued, as if it were
+well not to have illusions.
+
+"You can have wanted to, at any rate; that's something. I believe that's
+what you came from America for," the Countess suddenly added.
+
+"Yes, I wanted to look after her," Henrietta said serenely.
+
+Her hostess stood there smiling at her with small bright eyes and an
+eager-looking nose; with cheeks into each of which a flush had come.
+"Ah, that's very pretty c'est bien gentil! Isn't it what they call
+friendship?"
+
+"I don't know what they call it. I thought I had better come."
+
+"She's very happy--she's very fortunate," the Countess went on. "She
+has others besides." And then she broke out passionately. "She's more
+fortunate than I! I'm as unhappy as she--I've a very bad husband; he's a
+great deal worse than Osmond. And I've no friends. I thought I had, but
+they're gone. No one, man or woman, would do for me what you've done for
+her."
+
+Henrietta was touched; there was nature in this bitter effusion. She
+gazed at her companion a moment, and then: "Look here, Countess, I'll do
+anything for you that you like. I'll wait over and travel with you."
+
+"Never mind," the Countess answered with a quick change of tone: "only
+describe me in the newspaper!"
+
+Henrietta, before leaving her, however, was obliged to make her
+understand that she could give no fictitious representation of her
+journey to Rome. Miss Stackpole was a strictly veracious reporter. On
+quitting her she took the way to the Lung' Arno, the sunny quay beside
+the yellow river where the bright-faced inns familiar to tourists stand
+all in a row. She had learned her way before this through the streets of
+Florence (she was very quick in such matters), and was therefore able
+to turn with great decision of step out of the little square which forms
+the approach to the bridge of the Holy Trinity. She proceeded to the
+left, toward the Ponte Vecchio, and stopped in front of one of the
+hotels which overlook that delightful structure. Here she drew forth
+a small pocket-book, took from it a card and a pencil and, after
+meditating a moment, wrote a few words. It is our privilege to look over
+her shoulder, and if we exercise it we may read the brief query: "Could
+I see you this evening for a few moments on a very important matter?"
+Henrietta added that she should start on the morrow for Rome. Armed with
+this little document she approached the porter, who now had taken up
+his station in the doorway, and asked if Mr. Goodwood were at home.
+The porter replied, as porters always reply, that he had gone out about
+twenty minutes before; whereupon Henrietta presented her card and begged
+it might be handed him on his return. She left the inn and pursued her
+course along the quay to the severe portico of the Uffizi, through which
+she presently reached the entrance of the famous gallery of paintings.
+Making her way in, she ascended the high staircase which leads to the
+upper chambers. The long corridor, glazed on one side and decorated with
+antique busts, which gives admission to these apartments, presented an
+empty vista in which the bright winter light twinkled upon the marble
+floor. The gallery is very cold and during the midwinter weeks but
+scantily visited. Miss Stackpole may appear more ardent in her quest of
+artistic beauty than she has hitherto struck us as being, but she had
+after all her preferences and admirations. One of the latter was the
+little Correggio of the Tribune--the Virgin kneeling down before the
+sacred infant, who lies in a litter of straw, and clapping her hands
+to him while he delightedly laughs and crows. Henrietta had a special
+devotion to this intimate scene--she thought it the most beautiful
+picture in the world. On her way, at present, from New York to Rome, she
+was spending but three days in Florence, and yet reminded herself that
+they must not elapse without her paying another visit to her favourite
+work of art. She had a great sense of beauty in all ways, and it
+involved a good many intellectual obligations. She was about to turn
+into the Tribune when a gentleman came out of it; whereupon she gave a
+little exclamation and stood before Caspar Goodwood.
+
+"I've just been at your hotel," she said. "I left a card for you."
+
+"I'm very much honoured," Caspar Goodwood answered as if he really meant
+it.
+
+"It was not to honour you I did it; I've called on you before and I know
+you don't like it. It was to talk to you a little about something."
+
+He looked for a moment at the buckle in her hat. "I shall be very glad
+to hear what you wish to say."
+
+"You don't like to talk with me," said Henrietta. "But I don't care for
+that; I don't talk for your amusement. I wrote a word to ask you to come
+and see me; but since I've met you here this will do as well."
+
+"I was just going away," Goodwood stated; "but of course I'll stop." He
+was civil, but not enthusiastic.
+
+Henrietta, however, never looked for great professions, and she was
+so much in earnest that she was thankful he would listen to her on
+any terms. She asked him first, none the less, if he had seen all the
+pictures.
+
+"All I want to. I've been here an hour."
+
+"I wonder if you've seen my Correggio," said Henrietta. "I came up on
+purpose to have a look at it." She went into the Tribune and he slowly
+accompanied her.
+
+"I suppose I've seen it, but I didn't know it was yours. I don't
+remember pictures--especially that sort." She had pointed out her
+favourite work, and he asked her if it was about Correggio she wished to
+talk with him.
+
+"No," said Henrietta, "it's about something less harmonious!" They
+had the small, brilliant room, a splendid cabinet of treasures, to
+themselves; there was only a custode hovering about the Medicean Venus.
+"I want you to do me a favour," Miss Stackpole went on.
+
+Caspar Goodwood frowned a little, but he expressed no embarrassment at
+the sense of not looking eager. His face was that of a much older man
+than our earlier friend. "I'm sure it's something I shan't like," he
+said rather loudly.
+
+"No, I don't think you'll like it. If you did it would be no favour."
+
+"Well, let's hear it," he went on in the tone of a man quite conscious
+of his patience.
+
+"You may say there's no particular reason why you should do me a favour.
+Indeed I only know of one: the fact that if you'd let me I'd gladly do
+you one." Her soft, exact tone, in which there was no attempt at effect,
+had an extreme sincerity; and her companion, though he presented rather
+a hard surface, couldn't help being touched by it. When he was touched
+he rarely showed it, however, by the usual signs; he neither blushed,
+nor looked away, nor looked conscious. He only fixed his attention more
+directly; he seemed to consider with added firmness. Henrietta continued
+therefore disinterestedly, without the sense of an advantage. "I may say
+now, indeed--it seems a good time--that if I've ever annoyed you (and
+I think sometimes I have) it's because I knew I was willing to suffer
+annoyance for you. I've troubled you--doubtless. But I'd TAKE trouble
+for you."
+
+Goodwood hesitated. "You're taking trouble now."
+
+"Yes, I am--some. I want you to consider whether it's better on the
+whole that you should go to Rome."
+
+"I thought you were going to say that!" he answered rather artlessly.
+
+"You HAVE considered it then?"
+
+"Of course I have, very carefully. I've looked all round it. Otherwise
+I shouldn't have come so far as this. That's what I stayed in Paris two
+months for. I was thinking it over."
+
+"I'm afraid you decided as you liked. You decided it was best because
+you were so much attracted."
+
+"Best for whom, do you mean?" Goodwood demanded.
+
+"Well, for yourself first. For Mrs. Osmond next."
+
+"Oh, it won't do HER any good! I don't flatter myself that."
+
+"Won't it do her some harm?--that's the question."
+
+"I don't see what it will matter to her. I'm nothing to Mrs. Osmond. But
+if you want to know, I do want to see her myself."
+
+"Yes, and that's why you go."
+
+"Of course it is. Could there be a better reason?"
+
+"How will it help you?--that's what I want to know," said Miss
+Stackpole.
+
+"That's just what I can't tell you. It's just what I was thinking about
+in Paris."
+
+"It will make you more discontented."
+
+"Why do you say 'more' so?" Goodwood asked rather sternly. "How do you
+know I'm discontented?"
+
+"Well," said Henrietta, hesitating a little, "you seem never to have
+cared for another."
+
+"How do you know what I care for?" he cried with a big blush. "Just now
+I care to go to Rome."
+
+Henrietta looked at him in silence, with a sad yet luminous expression.
+"Well," she observed at last, "I only wanted to tell you what I think;
+I had it on my mind. Of course you think it's none of my business. But
+nothing is any one's business, on that principle."
+
+"It's very kind of you; I'm greatly obliged to you for your interest,"
+said Caspar Goodwood. "I shall go to Rome and I shan't hurt Mrs.
+Osmond."
+
+"You won't hurt her, perhaps. But will you help her?--that's the real
+issue."
+
+"Is she in need of help?" he asked slowly, with a penetrating look.
+
+"Most women always are," said Henrietta, with conscientious evasiveness
+and generalising less hopefully than usual. "If you go to Rome," she
+added, "I hope you'll be a true friend--not a selfish one!" And she
+turned off and began to look at the pictures.
+
+Caspar Goodwood let her go and stood watching her while she wandered
+round the room; but after a moment he rejoined her. "You've heard
+something about her here," he then resumed. "I should like to know what
+you've heard."
+
+Henrietta had never prevaricated in her life, and, though on this
+occasion there might have been a fitness in doing so, she decided, after
+thinking some minutes, to make no superficial exception. "Yes, I've
+heard," she answered; "but as I don't want you to go to Rome I won't
+tell you."
+
+"Just as you please. I shall see for myself," he said. Then
+inconsistently, for him, "You've heard she's unhappy!" he added.
+
+"Oh, you won't see that!" Henrietta exclaimed.
+
+"I hope not. When do you start?"
+
+"To-morrow, by the evening train. And you?"
+
+Goodwood hung back; he had no desire to make his journey to Rome in Miss
+Stackpole's company. His indifference to this advantage was not of the
+same character as Gilbert Osmond's, but it had at this moment an equal
+distinctness. It was rather a tribute to Miss Stackpole's virtues than a
+reference to her faults. He thought her very remarkable, very brilliant,
+and he had, in theory, no objection to the class to which she belonged.
+Lady correspondents appeared to him a part of the natural scheme of
+things in a progressive country, and though he never read their letters
+he supposed that they ministered somehow to social prosperity. But
+it was this very eminence of their position that made him wish Miss
+Stackpole didn't take so much for granted. She took for granted that he
+was always ready for some allusion to Mrs. Osmond; she had done so when
+they met in Paris, six weeks after his arrival in Europe, and she had
+repeated the assumption with every successive opportunity. He had no
+wish whatever to allude to Mrs. Osmond; he was NOT always thinking of
+her; he was perfectly sure of that. He was the most reserved, the least
+colloquial of men, and this enquiring authoress was constantly flashing
+her lantern into the quiet darkness of his soul. He wished she didn't
+care so much; he even wished, though it might seem rather brutal of him,
+that she would leave him alone. In spite of this, however, he just now
+made other reflections--which show how widely different, in effect, his
+ill-humour was from Gilbert Osmond's. He desired to go immediately to
+Rome; he would have liked to go alone, in the night-train. He hated the
+European railway-carriages, in which one sat for hours in a vise, knee
+to knee and nose to nose with a foreigner to whom one presently found
+one's self objecting with all the added vehemence of one's wish to have
+the window open; and if they were worse at night even than by day, at
+least at night one could sleep and dream of an American saloon-car. But
+he couldn't take a night-train when Miss Stackpole was starting in the
+morning; it struck him that this would be an insult to an unprotected
+woman. Nor could he wait until after she had gone unless he should wait
+longer than he had patience for. It wouldn't do to start the next day.
+She worried him; she oppressed him; the idea of spending the day in
+a European railway-carriage with her offered a complication of
+irritations. Still, she was a lady travelling alone; it was his duty to
+put himself out for her. There could be no two questions about that;
+it was a perfectly clear necessity. He looked extremely grave for some
+moments and then said, wholly without the flourish of gallantry but in a
+tone of extreme distinctness, "Of course if you're going to-morrow I'll
+go too, as I may be of assistance to you."
+
+"Well, Mr. Goodwood, I should hope so!" Henrietta returned
+imperturbably.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV
+
+I have already had reason to say that Isabel knew her husband to be
+displeased by the continuance of Ralph's visit to Rome. That knowledge
+was very present to her as she went to her cousin's hotel the day
+after she had invited Lord Warburton to give a tangible proof of his
+sincerity; and at this moment, as at others, she had a sufficient
+perception of the sources of Osmond's opposition. He wished her to have
+no freedom of mind, and he knew perfectly well that Ralph was an apostle
+of freedom. It was just because he was this, Isabel said to herself,
+that it was a refreshment to go and see him. It will be perceived that
+she partook of this refreshment in spite of her husband's aversion to
+it, that is partook of it, as she flattered herself, discreetly. She had
+not as yet undertaken to act in direct opposition to his wishes; he was
+her appointed and inscribed master; she gazed at moments with a sort
+of incredulous blankness at this fact. It weighed upon her imagination,
+however; constantly present to her mind were all the traditionary
+decencies and sanctities of marriage. The idea of violating them filled
+her with shame as well as with dread, for on giving herself away she had
+lost sight of this contingency in the perfect belief that her husband's
+intentions were as generous as her own. She seemed to see, none the
+less, the rapid approach of the day when she should have to take back
+something she had solemnly bestown. Such a ceremony would be odious and
+monstrous; she tried to shut her eyes to it meanwhile. Osmond would do
+nothing to help it by beginning first; he would put that burden upon her
+to the end. He had not yet formally forbidden her to call upon Ralph;
+but she felt sure that unless Ralph should very soon depart this
+prohibition would come. How could poor Ralph depart? The weather as yet
+made it impossible. She could perfectly understand her husband's wish
+for the event; she didn't, to be just, see how he COULD like her to be
+with her cousin. Ralph never said a word against him, but Osmond's
+sore, mute protest was none the less founded. If he should positively
+interpose, if he should put forth his authority, she would have to
+decide, and that wouldn't be easy. The prospect made her heart beat and
+her cheeks burn, as I say, in advance; there were moments when, in her
+wish to avoid an open rupture, she found herself wishing Ralph would
+start even at a risk. And it was of no use that, when catching herself
+in this state of mind, she called herself a feeble spirit, a coward.
+It was not that she loved Ralph less, but that almost anything seemed
+preferable to repudiating the most serious act--the single sacred
+act--of her life. That appeared to make the whole future hideous.
+To break with Osmond once would be to break for ever; any open
+acknowledgement of irreconcilable needs would be an admission that
+their whole attempt had proved a failure. For them there could be
+no condonement, no compromise, no easy forgetfulness, no formal
+readjustment. They had attempted only one thing, but that one thing was
+to have been exquisite. Once they missed it nothing else would do; there
+was no conceivable substitute for that success. For the moment, Isabel
+went to the Hotel de Paris as often as she thought well; the measure
+of propriety was in the canon of taste, and there couldn't have been
+a better proof that morality was, so to speak, a matter of earnest
+appreciation. Isabel's application of that measure had been particularly
+free to-day, for in addition to the general truth that she couldn't
+leave Ralph to die alone she had something important to ask of him. This
+indeed was Gilbert's business as well as her own.
+
+She came very soon to what she wished to speak of. "I want you to answer
+me a question. It's about Lord Warburton."
+
+"I think I guess your question," Ralph answered from his arm-chair, out
+of which his thin legs protruded at greater length than ever.
+
+"Very possibly you guess it. Please then answer it."
+
+"Oh, I don't say I can do that."
+
+"You're intimate with him," she said; "you've a great deal of
+observation of him."
+
+"Very true. But think how he must dissimulate!"
+
+"Why should he dissimulate? That's not his nature."
+
+"Ah, you must remember that the circumstances are peculiar," said Ralph
+with an air of private amusement.
+
+"To a certain extent--yes. But is he really in love?"
+
+"Very much, I think. I can make that out."
+
+"Ah!" said Isabel with a certain dryness.
+
+Ralph looked at her as if his mild hilarity had been touched with
+mystification. "You say that as if you were disappointed."
+
+Isabel got up, slowly smoothing her gloves and eyeing them thoughtfully.
+"It's after all no business of mine."
+
+"You're very philosophic," said her cousin. And then in a moment: "May I
+enquire what you're talking about?"
+
+Isabel stared. "I thought you knew. Lord Warburton tells me he wants,
+of all things in the world, to marry Pansy. I've told you that before,
+without eliciting a comment from you. You might risk one this morning, I
+think. Is it your belief that he really cares for her?"
+
+"Ah, for Pansy, no!" cried Ralph very positively.
+
+"But you said just now he did."
+
+Ralph waited a moment. "That he cared for you, Mrs. Osmond."
+
+Isabel shook her head gravely. "That's nonsense, you know."
+
+"Of course it is. But the nonsense is Warburton's, not mine."
+
+"That would be very tiresome." She spoke, as she flattered herself, with
+much subtlety.
+
+"I ought to tell you indeed," Ralph went on, "that to me he has denied
+it."
+
+"It's very good of you to talk about it together! Has he also told you
+that he's in love with Pansy?"
+
+"He has spoken very well of her--very properly. He has let me know, of
+course, that he thinks she would do very well at Lockleigh."
+
+"Does he really think it?"
+
+"Ah, what Warburton really thinks--!" said Ralph.
+
+Isabel fell to smoothing her gloves again; they were long, loose gloves
+on which she could freely expend herself. Soon, however, she looked
+up, and then, "Ah, Ralph, you give me no help!" she cried abruptly and
+passionately.
+
+It was the first time she had alluded to the need for help, and the
+words shook her cousin with their violence. He gave a long murmur of
+relief, of pity, of tenderness; it seemed to him that at last the gulf
+between them had been bridged. It was this that made him exclaim in a
+moment: "How unhappy you must be!"
+
+He had no sooner spoken than she recovered her self-possession, and the
+first use she made of it was to pretend she had not heard him. "When I
+talk of your helping me I talk great nonsense," she said with a quick
+smile. "The idea of my troubling you with my domestic embarrassments!
+The matter's very simple; Lord Warburton must get on by himself. I can't
+undertake to see him through."
+
+"He ought to succeed easily," said Ralph.
+
+Isabel debated. "Yes--but he has not always succeeded."
+
+"Very true. You know, however, how that always surprised me. Is Miss
+Osmond capable of giving us a surprise?"
+
+"It will come from him, rather. I seem to see that after all he'll let
+the matter drop."
+
+"He'll do nothing dishonourable," said Ralph.
+
+"I'm very sure of that. Nothing can be more honourable than for him to
+leave the poor child alone. She cares for another person, and it's cruel
+to attempt to bribe her by magnificent offers to give him up."
+
+"Cruel to the other person perhaps--the one she cares for. But Warburton
+isn't obliged to mind that."
+
+"No, cruel to her," said Isabel. "She would be very unhappy if she were
+to allow herself to be persuaded to desert poor Mr. Rosier. That idea
+seems to amuse you; of course you're not in love with him. He has the
+merit--for Pansy--of being in love with Pansy. She can see at a glance
+that Lord Warburton isn't."
+
+"He'd be very good to her," said Ralph.
+
+"He has been good to her already. Fortunately, however, he has not said
+a word to disturb her. He could come and bid her good-bye to-morrow with
+perfect propriety."
+
+"How would your husband like that?"
+
+"Not at all; and he may be right in not liking it. Only he must obtain
+satisfaction himself."
+
+"Has he commissioned you to obtain it?" Ralph ventured to ask.
+
+"It was natural that as an old friend of Lord Warburton's--an older
+friend, that is, than Gilbert--I should take an interest in his
+intentions."
+
+"Take an interest in his renouncing them, you mean?"
+
+Isabel hesitated, frowning a little. "Let me understand. Are you
+pleading his cause?"
+
+"Not in the least. I'm very glad he shouldn't become your stepdaughter's
+husband. It makes such a very queer relation to you!" said Ralph,
+smiling. "But I'm rather nervous lest your husband should think you
+haven't pushed him enough."
+
+Isabel found herself able to smile as well as he. "He knows me well
+enough not to have expected me to push. He himself has no intention
+of pushing, I presume. I'm not afraid I shall not be able to justify
+myself!" she said lightly.
+
+Her mask had dropped for an instant, but she had put it on again, to
+Ralph's infinite disappointment. He had caught a glimpse of her natural
+face and he wished immensely to look into it. He had an almost savage
+desire to hear her complain of her husband--hear her say that she should
+be held accountable for Lord Warburton's defection. Ralph was certain
+that this was her situation; he knew by instinct, in advance, the form
+that in such an event Osmond's displeasure would take. It could only
+take the meanest and cruellest. He would have liked to warn Isabel of
+it--to let her see at least how he judged for her and how he knew. It
+little mattered that Isabel would know much better; it was for his own
+satisfaction more than for hers that he longed to show her he was not
+deceived. He tried and tried again to make her betray Osmond; he felt
+cold-blooded, cruel, dishonourable almost, in doing so. But it scarcely
+mattered, for he only failed. What had she come for then, and why did
+she seem almost to offer him a chance to violate their tacit convention?
+Why did she ask him his advice if she gave him no liberty to answer her?
+How could they talk of her domestic embarrassments, as it pleased her
+humorously to designate them, if the principal factor was not to be
+mentioned? These contradictions were themselves but an indication of her
+trouble, and her cry for help, just before, was the only thing he was
+bound to consider. "You'll be decidedly at variance, all the same," he
+said in a moment. And as she answered nothing, looking as if she scarce
+understood, "You'll find yourselves thinking very differently," he
+continued.
+
+"That may easily happen, among the most united couples!" She took up her
+parasol; he saw she was nervous, afraid of what he might say. "It's a
+matter we can hardly quarrel about, however," she added; "for almost all
+the interest is on his side. That's very natural. Pansy's after all his
+daughter--not mine." And she put out her hand to wish him goodbye.
+
+Ralph took an inward resolution that she shouldn't leave him without
+his letting her know that he knew everything: it seemed too great an
+opportunity to lose. "Do you know what his interest will make him say?"
+he asked as he took her hand. She shook her head, rather dryly--not
+discouragingly--and he went on. "It will make him say that your want
+of zeal is owing to jealousy." He stopped a moment; her face made him
+afraid.
+
+"To jealousy?"
+
+"To jealousy of his daughter."
+
+She blushed red and threw back her head. "You're not kind," she said in
+a voice that he had never heard on her lips.
+
+"Be frank with me and you'll see," he answered.
+
+But she made no reply; she only pulled her hand out of his own, which he
+tried still to hold, and rapidly withdrew from the room. She made up her
+mind to speak to Pansy, and she took an occasion on the same day, going
+to the girl's room before dinner. Pansy was already dressed; she was
+always in advance of the time: it seemed to illustrate her pretty
+patience and the graceful stillness with which she could sit and wait.
+At present she was seated, in her fresh array, before the bed-room
+fire; she had blown out her candles on the completion of her toilet, in
+accordance with the economical habits in which she had been brought up
+and which she was now more careful than ever to observe; so that
+the room was lighted only by a couple of logs. The rooms in Palazzo
+Roccanera were as spacious as they were numerous, and Pansy's virginal
+bower was an immense chamber with a dark, heavily-timbered ceiling.
+Its diminutive mistress, in the midst of it, appeared but a speck of
+humanity, and as she got up, with quick deference, to welcome Isabel,
+the latter was more than ever struck with her shy sincerity. Isabel
+had a difficult task--the only thing was to perform it as simply as
+possible. She felt bitter and angry, but she warned herself against
+betraying this heat. She was afraid even of looking too grave, or at
+least too stern; she was afraid of causing alarm. But Pansy seemed to
+have guessed she had come more or less as a confessor; for after she
+had moved the chair in which she had been sitting a little nearer to the
+fire and Isabel had taken her place in it, she kneeled down on a
+cushion in front of her, looking up and resting her clasped hands on her
+stepmother's knees. What Isabel wished to do was to hear from her own
+lips that her mind was not occupied with Lord Warburton; but if she
+desired the assurance she felt herself by no means at liberty to provoke
+it. The girl's father would have qualified this as rank treachery; and
+indeed Isabel knew that if Pansy should display the smallest germ of
+a disposition to encourage Lord Warburton her own duty was to hold her
+tongue. It was difficult to interrogate without appearing to suggest;
+Pansy's supreme simplicity, an innocence even more complete than Isabel
+had yet judged it, gave to the most tentative enquiry something of the
+effect of an admonition. As she knelt there in the vague firelight, with
+her pretty dress dimly shining, her hands folded half in appeal and half
+in submission, her soft eyes, raised and fixed, full of the seriousness
+of the situation, she looked to Isabel like a childish martyr decked
+out for sacrifice and scarcely presuming even to hope to avert it. When
+Isabel said to her that she had never yet spoken to her of what might
+have been going on in relation to her getting married, but that her
+silence had not been indifference or ignorance, had only been the desire
+to leave her at liberty, Pansy bent forward, raised her face nearer
+and nearer, and with a little murmur which evidently expressed a deep
+longing, answered that she had greatly wished her to speak and that she
+begged her to advise her now.
+
+"It's difficult for me to advise you," Isabel returned. "I don't know
+how I can undertake that. That's for your father; you must get his
+advice and, above all, you must act on it."
+
+At this Pansy dropped her eyes; for a moment she said nothing. "I think
+I should like your advice better than papa's," she presently remarked.
+
+"That's not as it should be," said Isabel coldly. "I love you very much,
+but your father loves you better."
+
+"It isn't because you love me--it's because you're a lady," Pansy
+answered with the air of saying something very reasonable. "A lady can
+advise a young girl better than a man."
+
+"I advise you then to pay the greatest respect to your father's wishes."
+
+"Ah yes," said the child eagerly, "I must do that."
+
+"But if I speak to you now about your getting married it's not for your
+own sake, it's for mine," Isabel went on. "If I try to learn from you
+what you expect, what you desire, it's only that I may act accordingly."
+
+Pansy stared, and then very quickly, "Will you do everything I want?"
+she asked.
+
+"Before I say yes I must know what such things are."
+
+Pansy presently told her that the only thing she wanted in life was to
+marry Mr. Rosier. He had asked her and she had told him she would do so
+if her papa would allow it. Now her papa wouldn't allow it.
+
+"Very well then, it's impossible," Isabel pronounced.
+
+"Yes, it's impossible," said Pansy without a sigh and with the same
+extreme attention in her clear little face.
+
+"You must think of something else then," Isabel went on; but Pansy,
+sighing at this, told her that she had attempted that feat without the
+least success.
+
+"You think of those who think of you," she said with a faint smile. "I
+know Mr. Rosier thinks of me."
+
+"He ought not to," said Isabel loftily. "Your father has expressly
+requested he shouldn't."
+
+"He can't help it, because he knows I think of HIM."
+
+"You shouldn't think of him. There's some excuse for him, perhaps; but
+there's none for you."
+
+"I wish you would try to find one," the girl exclaimed as if she were
+praying to the Madonna.
+
+"I should be very sorry to attempt it," said the Madonna with unusual
+frigidity. "If you knew some one else was thinking of you, would you
+think of him?"
+
+"No one can think of me as Mr. Rosier does; no one has the right."
+
+"Ah, but I don't admit Mr. Rosier's right!" Isabel hypocritically cried.
+
+Pansy only gazed at her, evidently much puzzled; and Isabel, taking
+advantage of it, began to represent to her the wretched consequences of
+disobeying her father. At this Pansy stopped her with the assurance that
+she would never disobey him, would never marry without his consent. And
+she announced, in the serenest, simplest tone, that, though she might
+never marry Mr. Rosier, she would never cease to think of him. She
+appeared to have accepted the idea of eternal singleness; but Isabel of
+course was free to reflect that she had no conception of its meaning.
+She was perfectly sincere; she was prepared to give up her lover. This
+might seem an important step toward taking another, but for Pansy,
+evidently, it failed to lead in that direction. She felt no bitterness
+toward her father; there was no bitterness in her heart; there was only
+the sweetness of fidelity to Edward Rosier, and a strange, exquisite
+intimation that she could prove it better by remaining single than even
+by marrying him.
+
+"Your father would like you to make a better marriage," said Isabel.
+"Mr. Rosier's fortune is not at all large."
+
+"How do you mean better--if that would be good enough? And I have myself
+so little money; why should I look for a fortune?"
+
+"Your having so little is a reason for looking for more." With which
+Isabel was grateful for the dimness of the room; she felt as if her face
+were hideously insincere. It was what she was doing for Osmond; it was
+what one had to do for Osmond! Pansy's solemn eyes, fixed on her own,
+almost embarrassed her; she was ashamed to think she had made so light
+of the girl's preference.
+
+"What should you like me to do?" her companion softly demanded.
+
+The question was a terrible one, and Isabel took refuge in timorous
+vagueness. "To remember all the pleasure it's in your power to give your
+father."
+
+"To marry some one else, you mean--if he should ask me?"
+
+For a moment Isabel's answer caused itself to be waited for; then she
+heard herself utter it in the stillness that Pansy's attention seemed to
+make. "Yes--to marry some one else."
+
+The child's eyes grew more penetrating; Isabel believed she was doubting
+her sincerity, and the impression took force from her slowly getting
+up from her cushion. She stood there a moment with her small hands
+unclasped and then quavered out: "Well, I hope no one will ask me!"
+
+"There has been a question of that. Some one else would have been ready
+to ask you."
+
+"I don't think he can have been ready," said Pansy.
+
+"It would appear so if he had been sure he'd succeed."
+
+"If he had been sure? Then he wasn't ready!"
+
+Isabel thought this rather sharp; she also got up and stood a moment
+looking into the fire. "Lord Warburton has shown you great attention,"
+she resumed; "of course you know it's of him I speak." She found
+herself, against her expectation, almost placed in the position of
+justifying herself; which led her to introduce this nobleman more
+crudely than she had intended.
+
+"He has been very kind to me, and I like him very much. But if you mean
+that he'll propose for me I think you're mistaken."
+
+"Perhaps I am. But your father would like it extremely."
+
+Pansy shook her head with a little wise smile. "Lord Warburton won't
+propose simply to please papa."
+
+"Your father would like you to encourage him," Isabel went on
+mechanically.
+
+"How can I encourage him?"
+
+"I don't know. Your father must tell you that."
+
+Pansy said nothing for a moment; she only continued to smile as if
+she were in possession of a bright assurance. "There's no danger--no
+danger!" she declared at last.
+
+There was a conviction in the way she said this, and a felicity in her
+believing it, which conduced to Isabel's awkwardness. She felt accused
+of dishonesty, and the idea was disgusting. To repair her self-respect
+she was on the point of saying that Lord Warburton had let her know that
+there was a danger. But she didn't; she only said--in her embarrassment
+rather wide of the mark--that he surely had been most kind, most
+friendly.
+
+"Yes, he has been very kind," Pansy answered. "That's what I like him
+for."
+
+"Why then is the difficulty so great?"
+
+"I've always felt sure of his knowing that I don't want--what did you
+say I should do?--to encourage him. He knows I don't want to marry,
+and he wants me to know that he therefore won't trouble me. That's the
+meaning of his kindness. It's as if he said to me: 'I like you very
+much, but if it doesn't please you I'll never say it again.' I
+think that's very kind, very noble," Pansy went on with deepening
+positiveness. "That is all we've said to each other. And he doesn't care
+for me either. Ah no, there's no danger."
+
+Isabel was touched with wonder at the depths of perception of which
+this submissive little person was capable; she felt afraid of Pansy's
+wisdom--began almost to retreat before it. "You must tell your father
+that," she remarked reservedly.
+
+"I think I'd rather not," Pansy unreservedly answered.
+
+"You oughtn't to let him have false hopes."
+
+"Perhaps not; but it will be good for me that he should. So long as he
+believes that Lord Warburton intends anything of the kind you say, papa
+won't propose any one else. And that will be an advantage for me," said
+the child very lucidly.
+
+There was something brilliant in her lucidity, and it made her companion
+draw a long breath. It relieved this friend of a heavy responsibility.
+Pansy had a sufficient illumination of her own, and Isabel felt that
+she herself just now had no light to spare from her small stock.
+Nevertheless it still clung to her that she must be loyal to Osmond,
+that she was on her honour in dealing with his daughter. Under the
+influence of this sentiment she threw out another suggestion before she
+retired--a suggestion with which it seemed to her that she should have
+done her utmost.
+
+"Your father takes for granted at least that you would like to marry a
+nobleman."
+
+Pansy stood in the open doorway; she had drawn back the curtain for
+Isabel to pass. "I think Mr. Rosier looks like one!" she remarked very
+gravely.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI
+
+Lord Warburton was not seen in Mrs. Osmond's drawing-room for several
+days, and Isabel couldn't fail to observe that her husband said nothing
+to her about having received a letter from him. She couldn't fail to
+observe, either, that Osmond was in a state of expectancy and that,
+though it was not agreeable to him to betray it, he thought their
+distinguished friend kept him waiting quite too long. At the end of four
+days he alluded to his absence.
+
+"What has become of Warburton? What does he mean by treating one like a
+tradesman with a bill?"
+
+"I know nothing about him," Isabel said. "I saw him last Friday at the
+German ball. He told me then that he meant to write to you."
+
+"He has never written to me."
+
+"So I supposed, from your not having told me."
+
+"He's an odd fish," said Osmond comprehensively. And on Isabel's making
+no rejoinder he went on to enquire whether it took his lordship five
+days to indite a letter. "Does he form his words with such difficulty?"
+
+"I don't know," Isabel was reduced to replying. "I've never had a letter
+from him."
+
+"Never had a letter? I had an idea that you were at one time in intimate
+correspondence."
+
+She answered that this had not been the case, and let the conversation
+drop. On the morrow, however, coming into the drawing-room late in the
+afternoon, her husband took it up again.
+
+"When Lord Warburton told you of his intention of writing what did you
+say to him?" he asked.
+
+She just faltered. "I think I told him not to forget it.
+
+"Did you believe there was a danger of that?"
+
+"As you say, he's an odd fish."
+
+"Apparently he has forgotten it," said Osmond. "Be so good as to remind
+him."
+
+"Should you like me to write to him?" she demanded.
+
+"I've no objection whatever."
+
+"You expect too much of me."
+
+"Ah yes, I expect a great deal of you."
+
+"I'm afraid I shall disappoint you," said Isabel.
+
+"My expectations have survived a good deal of disappointment."
+
+"Of course I know that. Think how I must have disappointed myself!
+If you really wish hands laid on Lord Warburton you must lay them
+yourself."
+
+For a couple of minutes Osmond answered nothing; then he said: "That
+won't be easy, with you working against me."
+
+Isabel started; she felt herself beginning to tremble. He had a way of
+looking at her through half-closed eyelids, as if he were thinking of
+her but scarcely saw her, which seemed to her to have a wonderfully
+cruel intention. It appeared to recognise her as a disagreeable
+necessity of thought, but to ignore her for the time as a presence.
+That effect had never been so marked as now. "I think you accuse me of
+something very base," she returned.
+
+"I accuse you of not being trustworthy. If he doesn't after all come
+forward it will be because you've kept him off. I don't know that it's
+base: it is the kind of thing a woman always thinks she may do. I've no
+doubt you've the finest ideas about it."
+
+"I told you I would do what I could," she went on.
+
+"Yes, that gained you time."
+
+It came over her, after he had said this, that she had once thought him
+beautiful. "How much you must want to make sure of him!" she exclaimed
+in a moment.
+
+She had no sooner spoken than she perceived the full reach of her
+words, of which she had not been conscious in uttering them. They made
+a comparison between Osmond and herself, recalled the fact that she had
+once held this coveted treasure in her hand and felt herself rich
+enough to let it fall. A momentary exultation took possession of her--a
+horrible delight in having wounded him; for his face instantly told her
+that none of the force of her exclamation was lost. He expressed nothing
+otherwise, however; he only said quickly: "Yes, I want it immensely."
+
+At this moment a servant came in to usher a visitor, and he was followed
+the next by Lord Warburton, who received a visible check on seeing
+Osmond. He looked rapidly from the master of the house to the mistress;
+a movement that seemed to denote a reluctance to interrupt or even a
+perception of ominous conditions. Then he advanced, with his English
+address, in which a vague shyness seemed to offer itself as an element
+of good-breeding; in which the only defect was a difficulty in achieving
+transitions. Osmond was embarrassed; he found nothing to say; but Isabel
+remarked, promptly enough, that they had been in the act of talking
+about their visitor. Upon this her husband added that they hadn't known
+what was become of him--they had been afraid he had gone away. "No,"
+he explained, smiling and looking at Osmond; "I'm only on the point of
+going." And then he mentioned that he found himself suddenly recalled
+to England: he should start on the morrow or the day after. "I'm awfully
+sorry to leave poor Touchett!" he ended by exclaiming.
+
+For a moment neither of his companions spoke; Osmond only leaned back
+in his chair, listening. Isabel didn't look at him; she could only fancy
+how he looked. Her eyes were on their visitor's face, where they were
+the more free to rest that those of his lordship carefully avoided them.
+Yet Isabel was sure that had she met his glance she would have found it
+expressive. "You had better take poor Touchett with you," she heard her
+husband say, lightly enough, in a moment.
+
+"He had better wait for warmer weather," Lord Warburton answered. "I
+shouldn't advise him to travel just now."
+
+He sat there a quarter of an hour, talking as if he might not soon
+see them again--unless indeed they should come to England, a course
+he strongly recommended. Why shouldn't they come to England in the
+autumn?--that struck him as a very happy thought. It would give him such
+pleasure to do what he could for them--to have them come and spend a
+month with him. Osmond, by his own admission, had been to England but
+once; which was an absurd state of things for a man of his leisure and
+intelligence. It was just the country for him--he would be sure to get
+on well there. Then Lord Warburton asked Isabel if she remembered what
+a good time she had had there and if she didn't want to try it again.
+Didn't she want to see Gardencourt once more? Gardencourt was really
+very good. Touchett didn't take proper care of it, but it was the sort
+of place you could hardly spoil by letting it alone. Why didn't they
+come and pay Touchett a visit? He surely must have asked them. Hadn't
+asked them? What an ill-mannered wretch!--and Lord Warburton promised to
+give the master of Gardencourt a piece of his mind. Of course it was a
+mere accident; he would be delighted to have them. Spending a month with
+Touchett and a month with himself, and seeing all the rest of the
+people they must know there, they really wouldn't find it half bad. Lord
+Warburton added that it would amuse Miss Osmond as well, who had told
+him that she had never been to England and whom he had assured it was a
+country she deserved to see. Of course she didn't need to go to England
+to be admired--that was her fate everywhere; but she would be an immense
+success there, she certainly would, if that was any inducement. He asked
+if she were not at home: couldn't he say good-bye? Not that he liked
+good-byes--he always funked them. When he left England the other day he
+hadn't said good-bye to a two-legged creature. He had had half a mind
+to leave Rome without troubling Mrs. Osmond for a final interview. What
+could be more dreary than final interviews? One never said the things
+one wanted--one remembered them all an hour afterwards. On the other
+hand one usually said a lot of things one shouldn't, simply from a sense
+that one had to say something. Such a sense was upsetting; it muddled
+one's wits. He had it at present, and that was the effect it produced
+on him. If Mrs. Osmond didn't think he spoke as he ought she must set
+it down to agitation; it was no light thing to part with Mrs. Osmond.
+He was really very sorry to be going. He had thought of writing to her
+instead of calling--but he would write to her at any rate, to tell her a
+lot of things that would be sure to occur to him as soon as he had left
+the house. They must think seriously about coming to Lockleigh.
+
+If there was anything awkward in the conditions of his visit or in the
+announcement of his departure it failed to come to the surface. Lord
+Warburton talked about his agitation; but he showed it in no other
+manner, and Isabel saw that since he had determined on a retreat he was
+capable of executing it gallantly. She was very glad for him; she liked
+him quite well enough to wish him to appear to carry a thing off. He
+would do that on any occasion--not from impudence but simply from the
+habit of success; and Isabel felt it out of her husband's power to
+frustrate this faculty. A complex operation, as she sat there, went on
+in her mind. On one side she listened to their visitor; said what was
+proper to him; read, more or less, between the lines of what he said
+himself; and wondered how he would have spoken if he had found her
+alone. On the other she had a perfect consciousness of Osmond's emotion.
+She felt almost sorry for him; he was condemned to the sharp pain of
+loss without the relief of cursing. He had had a great hope, and now, as
+he saw it vanish into smoke, he was obliged to sit and smile and twirl
+his thumbs. Not that he troubled himself to smile very brightly; he
+treated their friend on the whole to as vacant a countenance as so
+clever a man could very well wear. It was indeed a part of Osmond's
+cleverness that he could look consummately uncompromised. His present
+appearance, however, was not a confession of disappointment; it was
+simply a part of Osmond's habitual system, which was to be inexpressive
+exactly in proportion as he was really intent. He had been intent on
+this prize from the first; but he had never allowed his eagerness to
+irradiate his refined face. He had treated his possible son-in-law as he
+treated every one--with an air of being interested in him only for his
+own advantage, not for any profit to a person already so generally, so
+perfectly provided as Gilbert Osmond. He would give no sign now of an
+inward rage which was the result of a vanished prospect of gain--not
+the faintest nor subtlest. Isabel could be sure of that, if it was any
+satisfaction to her. Strangely, very strangely, it was a satisfaction;
+she wished Lord Warburton to triumph before her husband, and at the same
+time she wished her husband to be very superior before Lord Warburton.
+Osmond, in his way, was admirable; he had, like their visitor, the
+advantage of an acquired habit. It was not that of succeeding, but it
+was something almost as good--that of not attempting. As he leaned back
+in his place, listening but vaguely to the other's friendly offers and
+suppressed explanations--as if it were only proper to assume that they
+were addressed essentially to his wife--he had at least (since so little
+else was left him) the comfort of thinking how well he personally had
+kept out of it, and how the air of indifference, which he was now able
+to wear, had the added beauty of consistency. It was something to be
+able to look as if the leave-taker's movements had no relation to his
+own mind. The latter did well, certainly; but Osmond's performance was
+in its very nature more finished. Lord Warburton's position was after
+all an easy one; there was no reason in the world why he shouldn't leave
+Rome. He had had beneficent inclinations, but they had stopped short
+of fruition; he had never committed himself, and his honour was safe.
+Osmond appeared to take but a moderate interest in the proposal that
+they should go and stay with him and in his allusion to the success
+Pansy might extract from their visit. He murmured a recognition, but
+left Isabel to say that it was a matter requiring grave consideration.
+Isabel, even while she made this remark, could see the great vista
+which had suddenly opened out in her husband's mind, with Pansy's little
+figure marching up the middle of it.
+
+Lord Warburton had asked leave to bid good-bye to Pansy, but neither
+Isabel nor Osmond had made any motion to send for her. He had the air of
+giving out that his visit must be short; he sat on a small chair, as if
+it were only for a moment, keeping his hat in his hand. But he stayed
+and stayed; Isabel wondered what he was waiting for. She believed it
+was not to see Pansy; she had an impression that on the whole he would
+rather not see Pansy. It was of course to see herself alone--he had
+something to say to her. Isabel had no great wish to hear it, for she
+was afraid it would be an explanation, and she could perfectly dispense
+with explanations. Osmond, however, presently got up, like a man of good
+taste to whom it had occurred that so inveterate a visitor might wish
+to say just the last word of all to the ladies. "I've a letter to write
+before dinner," he said; "you must excuse me. I'll see if my daughter's
+disengaged, and if she is she shall know you're here. Of course when
+you come to Rome you'll always look us up. Mrs. Osmond will talk to you
+about the English expedition: she decides all those things."
+
+The nod with which, instead of a hand-shake, he wound up this little
+speech was perhaps rather a meagre form of salutation; but on the whole
+it was all the occasion demanded. Isabel reflected that after he
+left the room Lord Warburton would have no pretext for saying, "Your
+husband's very angry"; which would have been extremely disagreeable to
+her. Nevertheless, if he had done so, she would have said: "Oh, don't be
+anxious. He doesn't hate you: it's me that he hates!"
+
+It was only when they had been left alone together that her friend
+showed a certain vague awkwardness--sitting down in another chair,
+handling two or three of the objects that were near him. "I hope he'll
+make Miss Osmond come," he presently remarked. "I want very much to see
+her."
+
+"I'm glad it's the last time," said Isabel.
+
+"So am I. She doesn't care for me."
+
+"No, she doesn't care for you."
+
+"I don't wonder at it," he returned. Then he added with inconsequence:
+"You'll come to England, won't you?"
+
+"I think we had better not."
+
+"Ah, you owe me a visit. Don't you remember that you were to have come
+to Lockleigh once, and you never did?"
+
+"Everything's changed since then," said Isabel.
+
+"Not changed for the worse, surely--as far as we're concerned. To see
+you under my roof"--and he hung fire but an instant--"would be a great
+satisfaction."
+
+She had feared an explanation; but that was the only one that occurred.
+They talked a little of Ralph, and in another moment Pansy came in,
+already dressed for dinner and with a little red spot in either cheek.
+She shook hands with Lord Warburton and stood looking up into his
+face with a fixed smile--a smile that Isabel knew, though his lordship
+probably never suspected it, to be near akin to a burst of tears.
+
+"I'm going away," he said. "I want to bid you good-bye."
+
+"Good-bye, Lord Warburton." Her voice perceptibly trembled.
+
+"And I want to tell you how much I wish you may be very happy."
+
+"Thank you, Lord Warburton," Pansy answered.
+
+He lingered a moment and gave a glance at Isabel. "You ought to be very
+happy--you've got a guardian angel."
+
+"I'm sure I shall be happy," said Pansy in the tone of a person whose
+certainties were always cheerful.
+
+"Such a conviction as that will take you a great way. But if it should
+ever fail you, remember--remember--" And her interlocutor stammered a
+little. "Think of me sometimes, you know!" he said with a vague laugh.
+Then he shook hands with Isabel in silence, and presently he was gone.
+
+When he had left the room she expected an effusion of tears from her
+stepdaughter; but Pansy in fact treated her to something very different.
+
+"I think you ARE my guardian angel!" she exclaimed very sweetly.
+
+Isabel shook her head. "I'm not an angel of any kind. I'm at the most
+your good friend."
+
+"You're a very good friend then--to have asked papa to be gentle with
+me."
+
+"I've asked your father nothing," said Isabel, wondering.
+
+"He told me just now to come to the drawing-room, and then he gave me a
+very kind kiss."
+
+"Ah," said Isabel, "that was quite his own idea!"
+
+She recognised the idea perfectly; it was very characteristic, and she
+was to see a great deal more of it. Even with Pansy he couldn't put
+himself the least in the wrong. They were dining out that day, and after
+their dinner they went to another entertainment; so that it was not till
+late in the evening that Isabel saw him alone. When Pansy kissed him
+before going to bed he returned her embrace with even more than his
+usual munificence, and Isabel wondered if he meant it as a hint that his
+daughter had been injured by the machinations of her stepmother. It was
+a partial expression, at any rate, of what he continued to expect of his
+wife. She was about to follow Pansy, but he remarked that he wished she
+would remain; he had something to say to her. Then he walked about the
+drawing-room a little, while she stood waiting in her cloak.
+
+"I don't understand what you wish to do," he said in a moment. "I should
+like to know--so that I may know how to act."
+
+"Just now I wish to go to bed. I'm very tired."
+
+"Sit down and rest; I shall not keep you long. Not there--take a
+comfortable place." And he arranged a multitude of cushions that were
+scattered in picturesque disorder upon a vast divan. This was not,
+however, where she seated herself; she dropped into the nearest chair.
+The fire had gone out; the lights in the great room were few. She drew
+her cloak about her; she felt mortally cold. "I think you're trying to
+humiliate me," Osmond went on. "It's a most absurd undertaking."
+
+"I haven't the least idea what you mean," she returned.
+
+"You've played a very deep game; you've managed it beautifully."
+
+"What is it that I've managed?"
+
+"You've not quite settled it, however; we shall see him again." And he
+stopped in front of her, with his hands in his pockets, looking down at
+her thoughtfully, in his usual way, which seemed meant to let her know
+that she was not an object, but only a rather disagreeable incident, of
+thought.
+
+"If you mean that Lord Warburton's under an obligation to come back
+you're wrong," Isabel said. "He's under none whatever."
+
+"That's just what I complain of. But when I say he'll come back I don't
+mean he'll come from a sense of duty."
+
+"There's nothing else to make him. I think he has quite exhausted Rome."
+
+"Ah no, that's a shallow judgement. Rome's inexhaustible." And Osmond
+began to walk about again. "However, about that perhaps there's no
+hurry," he added. "It's rather a good idea of his that we should go
+to England. If it were not for the fear of finding your cousin there I
+think I should try to persuade you."
+
+"It may be that you'll not find my cousin," said Isabel.
+
+"I should like to be sure of it. However, I shall be as sure as
+possible. At the same time I should like to see his house, that you told
+me so much about at one time: what do you call it?--Gardencourt. It must
+be a charming thing. And then, you know, I've a devotion to the memory
+of your uncle: you made me take a great fancy to him. I should like to
+see where he lived and died. That indeed is a detail. Your friend was
+right. Pansy ought to see England."
+
+"I've no doubt she would enjoy it," said Isabel.
+
+"But that's a long time hence; next autumn's far off," Osmond continued;
+"and meantime there are things that more nearly interest us. Do you
+think me so very proud?" he suddenly asked.
+
+"I think you very strange."
+
+"You don't understand me."
+
+"No, not even when you insult me."
+
+"I don't insult you; I'm incapable of it. I merely speak of certain
+facts, and if the allusion's an injury to you the fault's not mine.
+It's surely a fact that you have kept all this matter quite in your own
+hands."
+
+"Are you going back to Lord Warburton?" Isabel asked. "I'm very tired of
+his name."
+
+"You shall hear it again before we've done with it."
+
+She had spoken of his insulting her, but it suddenly seemed to her that
+this ceased to be a pain. He was going down--down; the vision of such a
+fall made her almost giddy: that was the only pain. He was too strange,
+too different; he didn't touch her. Still, the working of his morbid
+passion was extraordinary, and she felt a rising curiosity to know in
+what light he saw himself justified. "I might say to you that I judge
+you've nothing to say to me that's worth hearing," she returned in a
+moment. "But I should perhaps be wrong. There's a thing that would be
+worth my hearing--to know in the plainest words of what it is you accuse
+me."
+
+"Of having prevented Pansy's marriage to Warburton. Are those words
+plain enough?"
+
+"On the contrary, I took a great interest in it. I told you so; and when
+you told me that you counted on me--that I think was what you said--I
+accepted the obligation. I was a fool to do so, but I did it."
+
+"You pretended to do it, and you even pretended reluctance to make me
+more willing to trust you. Then you began to use your ingenuity to get
+him out of the way."
+
+"I think I see what you mean," said Isabel.
+
+"Where's the letter you told me he had written me?" her husband
+demanded.
+
+"I haven't the least idea; I haven't asked him."
+
+"You stopped it on the way," said Osmond.
+
+Isabel slowly got up; standing there in her white cloak, which covered
+her to her feet, she might have represented the angel of disdain, first
+cousin to that of pity. "Oh, Gilbert, for a man who was so fine--!" she
+exclaimed in a long murmur.
+
+"I was never so fine as you. You've done everything you wanted. You've
+got him out of the way without appearing to do so, and you've placed
+me in the position in which you wished to see me--that of a man who has
+tried to marry his daughter to a lord, but has grotesquely failed."
+
+"Pansy doesn't care for him. She's very glad he's gone," Isabel said.
+
+"That has nothing to do with the matter."
+
+"And he doesn't care for Pansy."
+
+"That won't do; you told me he did. I don't know why you wanted this
+particular satisfaction," Osmond continued; "you might have taken some
+other. It doesn't seem to me that I've been presumptuous--that I have
+taken too much for granted. I've been very modest about it, very quiet.
+The idea didn't originate with me. He began to show that he liked her
+before I ever thought of it. I left it all to you."
+
+"Yes, you were very glad to leave it to me. After this you must attend
+to such things yourself."
+
+He looked at her a moment; then he turned away. "I thought you were very
+fond of my daughter."
+
+"I've never been more so than to-day."
+
+"Your affection is attended with immense limitations. However, that
+perhaps is natural."
+
+"Is this all you wished to say to me?" Isabel asked, taking a candle
+that stood on one of the tables.
+
+"Are you satisfied? Am I sufficiently disappointed?"
+
+"I don't think that on the whole you're disappointed. You've had another
+opportunity to try to stupefy me."
+
+"It's not that. It's proved that Pansy can aim high."
+
+"Poor little Pansy!" said Isabel as she turned away with her candle.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII
+
+It was from Henrietta Stackpole that she learned how Caspar Goodwood had
+come to Rome; an event that took place three days after Lord Warburton's
+departure. This latter fact had been preceded by an incident of some
+importance to Isabel--the temporary absence, once again, of Madame
+Merle, who had gone to Naples to stay with a friend, the happy possessor
+of a villa at Posilippo. Madame Merle had ceased to minister to Isabel's
+happiness, who found herself wondering whether the most discreet of
+women might not also by chance be the most dangerous. Sometimes, at
+night, she had strange visions; she seemed to see her husband and her
+friend--his friend--in dim, indistinguishable combination. It seemed to
+her that she had not done with her; this lady had something in reserve.
+Isabel's imagination applied itself actively to this elusive point, but
+every now and then it was checked by a nameless dread, so that when
+the charming woman was away from Rome she had almost a consciousness
+of respite. She had already learned from Miss Stackpole that Caspar
+Goodwood was in Europe, Henrietta having written to make it known to
+her immediately after meeting him in Paris. He himself never wrote to
+Isabel, and though he was in Europe she thought it very possible he
+might not desire to see her. Their last interview, before her marriage,
+had had quite the character of a complete rupture; if she remembered
+rightly he had said he wished to take his last look at her. Since then
+he had been the most discordant survival of her earlier time--the only
+one in fact with which a permanent pain was associated. He had left her
+that morning with a sense of the most superfluous of shocks: it was like
+a collision between vessels in broad daylight. There had been no mist,
+no hidden current to excuse it, and she herself had only wished to steer
+wide. He had bumped against her prow, however, while her hand was on the
+tiller, and--to complete the metaphor--had given the lighter vessel a
+strain which still occasionally betrayed itself in a faint creaking. It
+had been horrid to see him, because he represented the only serious harm
+that (to her belief) she had ever done in the world: he was the only
+person with an unsatisfied claim on her. She had made him unhappy, she
+couldn't help it; and his unhappiness was a grim reality. She had cried
+with rage, after he had left her, at--she hardly knew what: she tried to
+think it had been at his want of consideration. He had come to her with
+his unhappiness when her own bliss was so perfect; he had done his best
+to darken the brightness of those pure rays. He had not been violent,
+and yet there had been a violence in the impression. There had been a
+violence at any rate in something somewhere; perhaps it was only in her
+own fit of weeping and in that after-sense of the same which had lasted
+three or four days.
+
+The effect of his final appeal had in short faded away, and all the
+first year of her marriage he had dropped out of her books. He was a
+thankless subject of reference; it was disagreeable to have to think
+of a person who was sore and sombre about you and whom you could yet do
+nothing to relieve. It would have been different if she had been able to
+doubt, even a little, of his unreconciled state, as she doubted of Lord
+Warburton's; unfortunately it was beyond question, and this aggressive,
+uncompromising look of it was just what made it unattractive. She could
+never say to herself that here was a sufferer who had compensations, as
+she was able to say in the case of her English suitor. She had no faith
+in Mr. Goodwood's compensations and no esteem for them. A cotton factory
+was not a compensation for anything--least of all for having failed
+to marry Isabel Archer. And yet, beyond that, she hardly knew what
+he had--save of course his intrinsic qualities. Oh, he was intrinsic
+enough; she never thought of his even looking for artificial aids. If
+he extended his business--that, to the best of her belief, was the
+only form exertion could take with him--it would be because it was an
+enterprising thing, or good for the business; not in the least because
+he might hope it would overlay the past. This gave his figure a kind of
+bareness and bleakness which made the accident of meeting it in memory
+or in apprehension a peculiar concussion; it was deficient in the social
+drapery commonly muffling, in an overcivilized age, the sharpness of
+human contacts. His perfect silence, moreover, the fact that she never
+heard from him and very seldom heard any mention of him, deepened this
+impression of his loneliness. She asked Lily for news of him, from
+time to time; but Lily knew nothing of Boston--her imagination was
+all bounded on the east by Madison Avenue. As time went on Isabel had
+thought of him oftener, and with fewer restrictions; she had had more
+than once the idea of writing to him. She had never told her husband
+about him--never let Osmond know of his visits to her in Florence; a
+reserve not dictated in the early period by a want of confidence
+in Osmond, but simply by the consideration that the young man's
+disappointment was not her secret but his own. It would be wrong of her,
+she had believed, to convey it to another, and Mr. Goodwood's affairs
+could have, after all, little interest for Gilbert. When it had come
+to the point she had never written to him; it seemed to her that,
+considering his grievance, the least she could do was to let him alone.
+Nevertheless she would have been glad to be in some way nearer to him.
+It was not that it ever occurred to her that she might have married him;
+even after the consequences of her actual union had grown vivid to her
+that particular reflection, though she indulged in so many, had not had
+the assurance to present itself. But on finding herself in trouble he
+had become a member of that circle of things with which she wished to
+set herself right. I have mentioned how passionately she needed to feel
+that her unhappiness should not have come to her through her own fault.
+She had no near prospect of dying, and yet she wished to make her peace
+with the world--to put her spiritual affairs in order. It came back to
+her from time to time that there was an account still to be settled
+with Caspar, and she saw herself disposed or able to settle it to-day
+on terms easier for him than ever before. Still, when she learned he was
+coming to Rome she felt all afraid; it would be more disagreeable for
+him than for any one else to make out--since he WOULD make it out, as
+over a falsified balance-sheet or something of that sort--the intimate
+disarray of her affairs. Deep in her breast she believed that he had
+invested his all in her happiness, while the others had invested only
+a part. He was one more person from whom she should have to conceal her
+stress. She was reassured, however, after he arrived in Rome, for he
+spent several days without coming to see her.
+
+Henrietta Stackpole, it may well be imagined, was more punctual, and
+Isabel was largely favoured with the society of her friend. She threw
+herself into it, for now that she had made such a point of keeping
+her conscience clear, that was one way of proving she had not been
+superficial--the more so as the years, in their flight, had rather
+enriched than blighted those peculiarities which had been humorously
+criticised by persons less interested than Isabel, and which were still
+marked enough to give loyalty a spice of heroism. Henrietta was as
+keen and quick and fresh as ever, and as neat and bright and fair. Her
+remarkably open eyes, lighted like great glazed railway-stations, had
+put up no shutters; her attire had lost none of its crispness, her
+opinions none of their national reference. She was by no means quite
+unchanged, however it struck Isabel she had grown vague. Of old she had
+never been vague; though undertaking many enquiries at once, she had
+managed to be entire and pointed about each. She had a reason for
+everything she did; she fairly bristled with motives. Formerly, when
+she came to Europe it was because she wished to see it, but now, having
+already seen it, she had no such excuse. She didn't for a moment pretend
+that the desire to examine decaying civilisations had anything to do
+with her present enterprise; her journey was rather an expression of her
+independence of the old world than of a sense of further obligations to
+it. "It's nothing to come to Europe," she said to Isabel; "it doesn't
+seem to me one needs so many reasons for that. It is something to stay
+at home; this is much more important." It was not therefore with a sense
+of doing anything very important that she treated herself to another
+pilgrimage to Rome; she had seen the place before and carefully
+inspected it; her present act was simply a sign of familiarity, of her
+knowing all about it, of her having as good a right as any one else to
+be there. This was all very well, and Henrietta was restless; she had a
+perfect right to be restless too, if one came to that. But she had after
+all a better reason for coming to Rome than that she cared for it so
+little. Her friend easily recognised it, and with it the worth of the
+other's fidelity. She had crossed the stormy ocean in midwinter because
+she had guessed that Isabel was sad. Henrietta guessed a great deal, but
+she had never guessed so happily as that. Isabel's satisfactions just
+now were few, but even if they had been more numerous there would still
+have been something of individual joy in her sense of being justified
+in having always thought highly of Henrietta. She had made large
+concessions with regard to her, and had yet insisted that, with all
+abatements, she was very valuable. It was not her own triumph, however,
+that she found good; it was simply the relief of confessing to this
+confidant, the first person to whom she had owned it, that she was not
+in the least at her ease. Henrietta had herself approached this point
+with the smallest possible delay, and had accused her to her face of
+being wretched. She was a woman, she was a sister; she was not Ralph,
+nor Lord Warburton, nor Caspar Goodwood, and Isabel could speak.
+
+"Yes, I'm wretched," she said very mildly. She hated to hear herself say
+it; she tried to say it as judicially as possible.
+
+"What does he do to you?" Henrietta asked, frowning as if she were
+enquiring into the operations of a quack doctor.
+
+"He does nothing. But he doesn't like me."
+
+"He's very hard to please!" cried Miss Stackpole. "Why don't you leave
+him?"
+
+"I can't change that way," Isabel said.
+
+"Why not, I should like to know? You won't confess that you've made a
+mistake. You're too proud."
+
+"I don't know whether I'm too proud. But I can't publish my mistake. I
+don't think that's decent. I'd much rather die."
+
+"You won't think so always," said Henrietta.
+
+"I don't know what great unhappiness might bring me to; but it seems to
+me I shall always be ashamed. One must accept one's deeds. I married
+him before all the world; I was perfectly free; it was impossible to do
+anything more deliberate. One can't change that way," Isabel repeated.
+
+"You HAVE changed, in spite of the impossibility. I hope you don't mean
+to say you like him."
+
+Isabel debated. "No, I don't like him. I can tell you, because I'm weary
+of my secret. But that's enough; I can't announce it on the housetops."
+
+Henrietta gave a laugh. "Don't you think you're rather too considerate?"
+
+"It's not of him that I'm considerate--it's of myself!" Isabel answered.
+
+It was not surprising Gilbert Osmond should not have taken comfort in
+Miss Stackpole; his instinct had naturally set him in opposition to a
+young lady capable of advising his wife to withdraw from the conjugal
+roof. When she arrived in Rome he had said to Isabel that he hoped she
+would leave her friend the interviewer alone; and Isabel had answered
+that he at least had nothing to fear from her. She said to Henrietta
+that as Osmond didn't like her she couldn't invite her to dine, but
+they could easily see each other in other ways. Isabel received Miss
+Stackpole freely in her own sitting-room, and took her repeatedly to
+drive, face to face with Pansy, who, bending a little forward, on the
+opposite seat of the carriage, gazed at the celebrated authoress with a
+respectful attention which Henrietta occasionally found irritating. She
+complained to Isabel that Miss Osmond had a little look as if she should
+remember everything one said. "I don't want to be remembered that way,"
+Miss Stackpole declared; "I consider that my conversation refers only
+to the moment, like the morning papers. Your stepdaughter, as she sits
+there, looks as if she kept all the back numbers and would bring
+them out some day against me." She could not teach herself to think
+favourably of Pansy, whose absence of initiative, of conversation, of
+personal claims, seemed to her, in a girl of twenty, unnatural and even
+uncanny. Isabel presently saw that Osmond would have liked her to urge a
+little the cause of her friend, insist a little upon his receiving her,
+so that he might appear to suffer for good manners' sake. Her immediate
+acceptance of his objections put him too much in the wrong--it being in
+effect one of the disadvantages of expressing contempt that you cannot
+enjoy at the same time the credit of expressing sympathy. Osmond held
+to his credit, and yet he held to his objections--all of which were
+elements difficult to reconcile. The right thing would have been that
+Miss Stackpole should come to dine at Palazzo Roccanera once or twice,
+so that (in spite of his superficial civility, always so great) she
+might judge for herself how little pleasure it gave him. From the
+moment, however, that both the ladies were so unaccommodating, there was
+nothing for Osmond but to wish the lady from New York would take herself
+off. It was surprising how little satisfaction he got from his wife's
+friends; he took occasion to call Isabel's attention to it.
+
+"You're certainly not fortunate in your intimates; I wish you might make
+a new collection," he said to her one morning in reference to nothing
+visible at the moment, but in a tone of ripe reflection which deprived
+the remark of all brutal abruptness. "It's as if you had taken the
+trouble to pick out the people in the world that I have least in common
+with. Your cousin I have always thought a conceited ass--besides his
+being the most ill-favoured animal I know. Then it's insufferably
+tiresome that one can't tell him so; one must spare him on account of
+his health. His health seems to me the best part of him; it gives him
+privileges enjoyed by no one else. If he's so desperately ill there's
+only one way to prove it; but he seems to have no mind for that. I can't
+say much more for the great Warburton. When one really thinks of it,
+the cool insolence of that performance was something rare! He comes and
+looks at one's daughter as if she were a suite of apartments; he tries
+the door-handles and looks out of the windows, raps on the walls and
+almost thinks he'll take the place. Will you be so good as to draw up a
+lease? Then, on the whole, he decides that the rooms are too small; he
+doesn't think he could live on a third floor; he must look out for a
+piano nobile. And he goes away after having got a month's lodging in the
+poor little apartment for nothing. Miss Stackpole, however, is your most
+wonderful invention. She strikes me as a kind of monster. One hasn't
+a nerve in one's body that she doesn't set quivering. You know I never
+have admitted that she's a woman. Do you know what she reminds me of? Of
+a new steel pen--the most odious thing in nature. She talks as a steel
+pen writes; aren't her letters, by the way, on ruled paper? She thinks
+and moves and walks and looks exactly as she talks. You may say that
+she doesn't hurt me, inasmuch as I don't see her. I don't see her, but I
+hear her; I hear her all day long. Her voice is in my ears; I can't get
+rid of it. I know exactly what she says, and every inflexion of the tone
+in which she says it. She says charming things about me, and they give
+you great comfort. I don't like at all to think she talks about me--I
+feel as I should feel if I knew the footman were wearing my hat."
+
+Henrietta talked about Gilbert Osmond, as his wife assured him, rather
+less than he suspected. She had plenty of other subjects, in two of
+which the reader may be supposed to be especially interested. She let
+her friend know that Caspar Goodwood had discovered for himself that
+she was unhappy, though indeed her ingenuity was unable to suggest what
+comfort he hoped to give her by coming to Rome and yet not calling
+on her. They met him twice in the street, but he had no appearance of
+seeing them; they were driving, and he had a habit of looking straight
+in front of him, as if he proposed to take in but one object at a time.
+Isabel could have fancied she had seen him the day before; it must
+have been with just that face and step that he had walked out of Mrs.
+Touchett's door at the close of their last interview. He was dressed
+just as he had been dressed on that day, Isabel remembered the colour
+of his cravat; and yet in spite of this familiar look there was a
+strangeness in his figure too, something that made her feel it afresh
+to be rather terrible he should have come to Rome. He looked bigger and
+more overtopping than of old, and in those days he certainly reached
+high enough. She noticed that the people whom he passed looked back
+after him; but he went straight forward, lifting above them a face like
+a February sky.
+
+Miss Stackpole's other topic was very different; she gave Isabel the
+latest news about Mr. Bantling. He had been out in the United States
+the year before, and she was happy to say she had been able to show him
+considerable attention. She didn't know how much he had enjoyed it, but
+she would undertake to say it had done him good; he wasn't the same man
+when he left as he had been when he came. It had opened his eyes and
+shown him that England wasn't everything. He had been very much liked in
+most places, and thought extremely simple--more simple than the English
+were commonly supposed to be. There were people who had thought him
+affected; she didn't know whether they meant that his simplicity was an
+affectation. Some of his questions were too discouraging; he thought all
+the chambermaids were farmers' daughters--or all the farmers' daughters
+were chambermaids--she couldn't exactly remember which. He hadn't seemed
+able to grasp the great school system; it had been really too much
+for him. On the whole he had behaved as if there were too much of
+everything--as if he could only take in a small part. The part he had
+chosen was the hotel system and the river navigation. He had seemed
+really fascinated with the hotels; he had a photograph of every one
+he had visited. But the river steamers were his principal interest;
+he wanted to do nothing but sail on the big boats. They had travelled
+together from New York to Milwaukee, stopping at the most interesting
+cities on the route; and whenever they started afresh he had wanted
+to know if they could go by the steamer. He seemed to have no idea of
+geography--had an impression that Baltimore was a Western city and was
+perpetually expecting to arrive at the Mississippi. He appeared never
+to have heard of any river in America but the Mississippi and was
+unprepared to recognise the existence of the Hudson, though obliged to
+confess at last that it was fully equal to the Rhine. They had spent
+some pleasant hours in the palace-cars; he was always ordering ice-cream
+from the coloured man. He could never get used to that idea--that you
+could get ice-cream in the cars. Of course you couldn't, nor fans,
+nor candy, nor anything in the English cars! He found the heat quite
+overwhelming, and she had told him she indeed expected it was
+the biggest he had ever experienced. He was now in England,
+hunting--"hunting round" Henrietta called it. These amusements were
+those of the American red men; we had left that behind long ago, the
+pleasures of the chase. It seemed to be generally believed in England
+that we wore tomahawks and feathers; but such a costume was more in
+keeping with English habits. Mr. Bantling would not have time to join
+her in Italy, but when she should go to Paris again he expected to come
+over. He wanted very much to see Versailles again; he was very fond of
+the ancient regime. They didn't agree about that, but that was what she
+liked Versailles for, that you could see the ancient regime had been
+swept away. There were no dukes and marquises there now; she remembered
+on the contrary one day when there were five American families, walking
+all round. Mr. Bantling was very anxious that she should take up the
+subject of England again, and he thought she might get on better with it
+now; England had changed a good deal within two or three years. He was
+determined that if she went there he should go to see his sister, Lady
+Pensil, and that this time the invitation should come to her straight.
+The mystery about that other one had never been explained.
+
+Caspar Goodwood came at last to Palazzo Roccanera; he had written Isabel
+a note beforehand, to ask leave. This was promptly granted; she would be
+at home at six o'clock that afternoon. She spent the day wondering what
+he was coming for--what good he expected to get of it. He had presented
+himself hitherto as a person destitute of the faculty of compromise, who
+would take what he had asked for or take nothing. Isabel's hospitality,
+however, raised no questions, and she found no great difficulty in
+appearing happy enough to deceive him. It was her conviction at
+least that she deceived him, made him say to himself that he had
+been misinformed. But she also saw, so she believed, that he was not
+disappointed, as some other men, she was sure, would have been; he had
+not come to Rome to look for an opportunity. She never found out what he
+had come for; he offered her no explanation; there could be none but the
+very simple one that he wanted to see her. In other words he had come
+for his amusement. Isabel followed up this induction with a good deal of
+eagerness, and was delighted to have found a formula that would lay the
+ghost of this gentleman's ancient grievance. If he had come to Rome
+for his amusement this was exactly what she wanted; for if he cared
+for amusement he had got over his heartache. If he had got over his
+heartache everything was as it should be and her responsibilities were
+at an end. It was true that he took his recreation a little stiffly, but
+he had never been loose and easy and she had every reason to believe
+he was satisfied with what he saw. Henrietta was not in his confidence,
+though he was in hers, and Isabel consequently received no side-light
+upon his state of mind. He was open to little conversation on general
+topics; it came back to her that she had said of him once, years before,
+"Mr. Goodwood speaks a good deal, but he doesn't talk." He spoke a good
+deal now, but he talked perhaps as little as ever; considering, that is,
+how much there was in Rome to talk about. His arrival was not calculated
+to simplify her relations with her husband, for if Mr. Osmond didn't
+like her friends Mr. Goodwood had no claim upon his attention save as
+having been one of the first of them. There was nothing for her to say
+of him but that he was the very oldest; this rather meagre synthesis
+exhausted the facts. She had been obliged to introduce him to Gilbert;
+it was impossible she should not ask him to dinner, to her Thursday
+evenings, of which she had grown very weary, but to which her husband
+still held for the sake not so much of inviting people as of not
+inviting them.
+
+To the Thursdays Mr. Goodwood came regularly, solemnly, rather early;
+he appeared to regard them with a good deal of gravity. Isabel every
+now and then had a moment of anger; there was something so literal about
+him; she thought he might know that she didn't know what to do with him.
+But she couldn't call him stupid; he was not that in the least; he was
+only extraordinarily honest. To be as honest as that made a man very
+different from most people; one had to be almost equally honest with
+HIM. She made this latter reflection at the very time she was flattering
+herself she had persuaded him that she was the most light-hearted of
+women. He never threw any doubt on this point, never asked her any
+personal questions. He got on much better with Osmond than had seemed
+probable. Osmond had a great dislike to being counted on; in such a case
+he had an irresistible need of disappointing you. It was in virtue of
+this principle that he gave himself the entertainment of taking a fancy
+to a perpendicular Bostonian whom he had been depended upon to treat
+with coldness. He asked Isabel if Mr. Goodwood also had wanted to marry
+her, and expressed surprise at her not having accepted him. It would
+have been an excellent thing, like living under some tall belfry which
+would strike all the hours and make a queer vibration in the upper air.
+He declared he liked to talk with the great Goodwood; it wasn't easy at
+first, you had to climb up an interminable steep staircase up to the
+top of the tower; but when you got there you had a big view and felt a
+little fresh breeze. Osmond, as we know, had delightful qualities, and
+he gave Caspar Goodwood the benefit of them all. Isabel could see that
+Mr. Goodwood thought better of her husband than he had ever wished
+to; he had given her the impression that morning in Florence of being
+inaccessible to a good impression. Gilbert asked him repeatedly to
+dinner, and Mr. Goodwood smoked a cigar with him afterwards and even
+desired to be shown his collections. Gilbert said to Isabel that he was
+very original; he was as strong and of as good a style as an English
+portmanteau,--he had plenty of straps and buckles which would never wear
+out, and a capital patent lock. Caspar Goodwood took to riding on the
+Campagna and devoted much time to this exercise; it was therefore mainly
+in the evening that Isabel saw him. She bethought herself of saying to
+him one day that if he were willing he could render her a service. And
+then she added smiling:
+
+"I don't know, however, what right I have to ask a service of you."
+
+"You're the person in the world who has most right," he answered. "I've
+given you assurances that I've never given any one else."
+
+The service was that he should go and see her cousin Ralph, who was ill
+at the Hotel de Paris, alone, and be as kind to him as possible. Mr.
+Goodwood had never seen him, but he would know who the poor fellow
+was; if she was not mistaken Ralph had once invited him to Gardencourt.
+Caspar remembered the invitation perfectly, and, though he was not
+supposed to be a man of imagination, had enough to put himself in the
+place of a poor gentleman who lay dying at a Roman inn. He called at the
+Hotel de Paris and, on being shown into the presence of the master of
+Gardencourt, found Miss Stackpole sitting beside his sofa. A singular
+change had in fact occurred in this lady's relations with Ralph
+Touchett. She had not been asked by Isabel to go and see him, but on
+hearing that he was too ill to come out had immediately gone of her
+own motion. After this she had paid him a daily visit--always under
+the conviction that they were great enemies. "Oh yes, we're intimate
+enemies," Ralph used to say; and he accused her freely--as freely as the
+humour of it would allow--of coming to worry him to death. In reality
+they became excellent friends, Henrietta much wondering that she should
+never have liked him before. Ralph liked her exactly as much as he had
+always done; he had never doubted for a moment that she was an excellent
+fellow. They talked about everything and always differed; about
+everything, that is, but Isabel--a topic as to which Ralph always had
+a thin forefinger on his lips. Mr. Bantling on the other hand proved
+a great resource; Ralph was capable of discussing Mr. Bantling with
+Henrietta for hours. Discussion was stimulated of course by their
+inevitable difference of view--Ralph having amused himself with taking
+the ground that the genial ex-guardsman was a regular Machiavelli.
+Caspar Goodwood could contribute nothing to such a debate; but after
+he had been left alone with his host he found there were various other
+matters they could take up. It must be admitted that the lady who had
+just gone out was not one of these; Caspar granted all Miss Stackpole's
+merits in advance, but had no further remark to make about her. Neither,
+after the first allusions, did the two men expatiate upon Mrs. Osmond--a
+theme in which Goodwood perceived as many dangers as Ralph. He felt very
+sorry for that unclassable personage; he couldn't bear to see a pleasant
+man, so pleasant for all his queerness, so beyond anything to be done.
+There was always something to be done, for Goodwood, and he did it in
+this case by repeating several times his visit to the Hotel de Paris.
+It seemed to Isabel that she had been very clever; she had artfully
+disposed of the superfluous Caspar. She had given him an occupation; she
+had converted him into a caretaker of Ralph. She had a plan of making
+him travel northward with her cousin as soon as the first mild weather
+should allow it. Lord Warburton had brought Ralph to Rome and Mr.
+Goodwood should take him away. There seemed a happy symmetry in this,
+and she was now intensely eager that Ralph should depart. She had a
+constant fear he would die there before her eyes and a horror of the
+occurrence of this event at an inn, by her door, which he had so rarely
+entered. Ralph must sink to his last rest in his own dear house, in
+one of those deep, dim chambers of Gardencourt where the dark ivy would
+cluster round the edges of the glimmering window. There seemed to Isabel
+in these days something sacred in Gardencourt; no chapter of the past
+was more perfectly irrecoverable. When she thought of the months she had
+spent there the tears rose to her eyes. She flattered herself, as I
+say, upon her ingenuity, but she had need of all she could muster;
+for several events occurred which seemed to confront and defy her. The
+Countess Gemini arrived from Florence--arrived with her trunks, her
+dresses, her chatter, her falsehoods, her frivolity, the strange, the
+unholy legend of the number of her lovers. Edward Rosier, who had been
+away somewhere,--no one, not even Pansy, knew where,--reappeared in Rome
+and began to write her long letters, which she never answered. Madame
+Merle returned from Naples and said to her with a strange smile: "What
+on earth did you do with Lord Warburton?" As if it were any business of
+hers!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII
+
+One day, toward the end of February, Ralph Touchett made up his mind to
+return to England. He had his own reasons for this decision, which
+he was not bound to communicate; but Henrietta Stackpole, to whom he
+mentioned his intention, flattered herself that she guessed them. She
+forbore to express them, however; she only said, after a moment, as she
+sat by his sofa: "I suppose you know you can't go alone?"
+
+"I've no idea of doing that," Ralph answered. "I shall have people with
+me."
+
+"What do you mean by 'people'? Servants whom you pay?"
+
+"Ah," said Ralph jocosely, "after all, they're human beings."
+
+"Are there any women among them?" Miss Stackpole desired to know.
+
+"You speak as if I had a dozen! No, I confess I haven't a soubrette in
+my employment."
+
+"Well," said Henrietta calmly, "you can't go to England that way. You
+must have a woman's care."
+
+"I've had so much of yours for the past fortnight that it will last me a
+good while."
+
+"You've not had enough of it yet. I guess I'll go with you," said
+Henrietta.
+
+"Go with me?" Ralph slowly raised himself from his sofa.
+
+"Yes, I know you don't like me, but I'll go with you all the same. It
+would be better for your health to lie down again."
+
+Ralph looked at her a little; then he slowly relapsed. "I like you very
+much," he said in a moment.
+
+Miss Stackpole gave one of her infrequent laughs. "You needn't think
+that by saying that you can buy me off. I'll go with you, and what is
+more I'll take care of you."
+
+"You're a very good woman," said Ralph.
+
+"Wait till I get you safely home before you say that. It won't be easy.
+But you had better go, all the same."
+
+Before she left him, Ralph said to her: "Do you really mean to take care
+of me?"
+
+"Well, I mean to try."
+
+"I notify you then that I submit. Oh, I submit!" And it was perhaps a
+sign of submission that a few minutes after she had left him alone he
+burst into a loud fit of laughter. It seemed to him so inconsequent,
+such a conclusive proof of his having abdicated all functions and
+renounced all exercise, that he should start on a journey across Europe
+under the supervision of Miss Stackpole. And the great oddity was that
+the prospect pleased him; he was gratefully, luxuriously passive. He
+felt even impatient to start; and indeed he had an immense longing to
+see his own house again. The end of everything was at hand; it seemed
+to him he could stretch out his arm and touch the goal. But he wanted to
+die at home; it was the only wish he had left--to extend himself in the
+large quiet room where he had last seen his father lie, and close his
+eyes upon the summer dawn.
+
+That same day Caspar Goodwood came to see him, and he informed his
+visitor that Miss Stackpole had taken him up and was to conduct him back
+to England. "Ah then," said Caspar, "I'm afraid I shall be a fifth wheel
+to the coach. Mrs. Osmond has made me promise to go with you."
+
+"Good heavens--it's the golden age! You're all too kind."
+
+"The kindness on my part is to her; it's hardly to you."
+
+"Granting that, SHE'S kind," smiled Ralph.
+
+"To get people to go with you? Yes, that's a sort of kindness," Goodwood
+answered without lending himself to the joke. "For myself, however," he
+added, "I'll go so far as to say that I would much rather travel with
+you and Miss Stackpole than with Miss Stackpole alone."
+
+"And you'd rather stay here than do either," said Ralph. "There's really
+no need of your coming. Henrietta's extraordinarily efficient."
+
+"I'm sure of that. But I've promised Mrs. Osmond."
+
+"You can easily get her to let you off."
+
+"She wouldn't let me off for the world. She wants me to look after you,
+but that isn't the principal thing. The principal thing is that she
+wants me to leave Rome."
+
+"Ah, you see too much in it," Ralph suggested.
+
+"I bore her," Goodwood went on; "she has nothing to say to me, so she
+invented that."
+
+"Oh then, if it's a convenience to her I certainly will take you with
+me. Though I don't see why it should be a convenience," Ralph added in a
+moment.
+
+"Well," said Caspar Goodwood simply, "she thinks I'm watching her."
+
+"Watching her?"
+
+"Trying to make out if she's happy."
+
+"That's easy to make out," said Ralph. "She's the most visibly happy
+woman I know."
+
+"Exactly so; I'm satisfied," Goodwood answered dryly. For all his
+dryness, however, he had more to say. "I've been watching her; I was
+an old friend and it seemed to me I had the right. She pretends to be
+happy; that was what she undertook to be; and I thought I should like to
+see for myself what it amounts to. I've seen," he continued with a harsh
+ring in his voice, "and I don't want to see any more. I'm now quite
+ready to go."
+
+"Do you know it strikes me as about time you should?" Ralph rejoined.
+And this was the only conversation these gentlemen had about Isabel
+Osmond.
+
+Henrietta made her preparations for departure, and among them she found
+it proper to say a few words to the Countess Gemini, who returned at
+Miss Stackpole's pension the visit which this lady had paid her in
+Florence.
+
+"You were very wrong about Lord Warburton," she remarked to the
+Countess. "I think it right you should know that."
+
+"About his making love to Isabel? My poor lady, he was at her house
+three times a day. He has left traces of his passage!" the Countess
+cried.
+
+"He wished to marry your niece; that's why he came to the house."
+
+The Countess stared, and then with an inconsiderate laugh: "Is that the
+story that Isabel tells? It isn't bad, as such things go. If he wishes
+to marry my niece, pray why doesn't he do it? Perhaps he has gone to buy
+the wedding-ring and will come back with it next month, after I'm gone."
+
+"No, he'll not come back. Miss Osmond doesn't wish to marry him."
+
+"She's very accommodating! I knew she was fond of Isabel, but I didn't
+know she carried it so far."
+
+"I don't understand you," said Henrietta coldly, and reflecting that
+the Countess was unpleasantly perverse. "I really must stick to my
+point--that Isabel never encouraged the attentions of Lord Warburton."
+
+"My dear friend, what do you and I know about it? All we know is that my
+brother's capable of everything."
+
+"I don't know what your brother's capable of," said Henrietta with
+dignity.
+
+"It's not her encouraging Warburton that I complain of; it's her sending
+him away. I want particularly to see him. Do you suppose she thought
+I would make him faithless?" the Countess continued with audacious
+insistence. "However, she's only keeping him, one can feel that. The
+house is full of him there; he's quite in the air. Oh yes, he has left
+traces; I'm sure I shall see him yet."
+
+"Well," said Henrietta after a little, with one of those inspirations
+which had made the fortune of her letters to the Interviewer, "perhaps
+he'll be more successful with you than with Isabel!"
+
+When she told her friend of the offer she had made Ralph Isabel replied
+that she could have done nothing that would have pleased her more. It
+had always been her faith that at bottom Ralph and this young woman were
+made to understand each other. "I don't care whether he understands me
+or not," Henrietta declared. "The great thing is that he shouldn't die
+in the cars."
+
+"He won't do that," Isabel said, shaking her head with an extension of
+faith.
+
+"He won't if I can help it. I see you want us all to go. I don't know
+what you want to do."
+
+"I want to be alone," said Isabel.
+
+"You won't be that so long as you've so much company at home."
+
+"Ah, they're part of the comedy. You others are spectators."
+
+"Do you call it a comedy, Isabel Archer?" Henrietta rather grimly asked.
+
+"The tragedy then if you like. You're all looking at me; it makes me
+uncomfortable."
+
+Henrietta engaged in this act for a while. "You're like the stricken
+deer, seeking the innermost shade. Oh, you do give me such a sense of
+helplessness!" she broke out.
+
+"I'm not at all helpless. There are many things I mean to do."
+
+"It's not you I'm speaking of; it's myself. It's too much, having come
+on purpose, to leave you just as I find you."
+
+"You don't do that; you leave me much refreshed," Isabel said.
+
+"Very mild refreshment--sour lemonade! I want you to promise me
+something."
+
+"I can't do that. I shall never make another promise. I made such a
+solemn one four years ago, and I've succeeded so ill in keeping it."
+
+"You've had no encouragement. In this case I should give you the
+greatest. Leave your husband before the worst comes; that's what I want
+you to promise."
+
+"The worst? What do you call the worst?"
+
+"Before your character gets spoiled."
+
+"Do you mean my disposition? It won't get spoiled," Isabel answered,
+smiling. "I'm taking very good care of it. I'm extremely struck," she
+added, turning away, "with the off-hand way in which you speak of a
+woman's leaving her husband. It's easy to see you've never had one!"
+
+"Well," said Henrietta as if she were beginning an argument, "nothing is
+more common in our Western cities, and it's to them, after all, that we
+must look in the future." Her argument, however, does not concern this
+history, which has too many other threads to unwind. She announced to
+Ralph Touchett that she was ready to leave Rome by any train he might
+designate, and Ralph immediately pulled himself together for departure.
+Isabel went to see him at the last, and he made the same remark that
+Henrietta had made. It struck him that Isabel was uncommonly glad to get
+rid of them all.
+
+For all answer to this she gently laid her hand on his, and said in a
+low tone, with a quick smile: "My dear Ralph--!"
+
+It was answer enough, and he was quite contented. But he went on in the
+same way, jocosely, ingenuously: "I've seen less of you than I might,
+but it's better than nothing. And then I've heard a great deal about
+you."
+
+"I don't know from whom, leading the life you've done."
+
+"From the voices of the air! Oh, from no one else; I never let other
+people speak of you. They always say you're 'charming,' and that's so
+flat."
+
+"I might have seen more of you certainly," Isabel said. "But when one's
+married one has so much occupation."
+
+"Fortunately I'm not married. When you come to see me in England I
+shall be able to entertain you with all the freedom of a bachelor." He
+continued to talk as if they should certainly meet again, and succeeded
+in making the assumption appear almost just. He made no allusion to
+his term being near, to the probability that he should not outlast the
+summer. If he preferred it so, Isabel was willing enough; the reality
+was sufficiently distinct without their erecting finger-posts in
+conversation. That had been well enough for the earlier time, though
+about this, as about his other affairs, Ralph had never been egotistic.
+Isabel spoke of his journey, of the stages into which he should
+divide it, of the precautions he should take. "Henrietta's my greatest
+precaution," he went on. "The conscience of that woman's sublime."
+
+"Certainly she'll be very conscientious."
+
+"Will be? She has been! It's only because she thinks it's her duty that
+she goes with me. There's a conception of duty for you."
+
+"Yes, it's a generous one," said Isabel, "and it makes me deeply
+ashamed. I ought to go with you, you know."
+
+"Your husband wouldn't like that."
+
+"No, he wouldn't like it. But I might go, all the same."
+
+"I'm startled by the boldness of your imagination. Fancy my being a
+cause of disagreement between a lady and her husband!"
+
+"That's why I don't go," said Isabel simply--yet not very lucidly.
+
+Ralph understood well enough, however. "I should think so, with all
+those occupations you speak of."
+
+"It isn't that. I'm afraid," said Isabel. After a pause she repeated, as
+if to make herself, rather than him, hear the words: "I'm afraid."
+
+Ralph could hardly tell what her tone meant; it was so strangely
+deliberate--apparently so void of emotion. Did she wish to do public
+penance for a fault of which she had not been convicted? or were her
+words simply an attempt at enlightened self-analysis? However this
+might be, Ralph could not resist so easy an opportunity. "Afraid of your
+husband?"
+
+"Afraid of myself!" she said, getting up. She stood there a moment and
+then added: "If I were afraid of my husband that would be simply my
+duty. That's what women are expected to be."
+
+"Ah yes," laughed Ralph; "but to make up for it there's always some man
+awfully afraid of some woman!"
+
+She gave no heed to this pleasantry, but suddenly took a different
+turn. "With Henrietta at the head of your little band," she exclaimed
+abruptly, "there will be nothing left for Mr. Goodwood!"
+
+"Ah, my dear Isabel," Ralph answered, "he's used to that. There is
+nothing left for Mr. Goodwood."
+
+She coloured and then observed, quickly, that she must leave him. They
+stood together a moment; both her hands were in both of his. "You've
+been my best friend," she said.
+
+"It was for you that I wanted--that I wanted to live. But I'm of no use
+to you."
+
+Then it came over her more poignantly that she should not see him again.
+She could not accept that; she could not part with him that way. "If you
+should send for me I'd come," she said at last.
+
+"Your husband won't consent to that."
+
+"Oh yes, I can arrange it."
+
+"I shall keep that for my last pleasure!" said Ralph.
+
+In answer to which she simply kissed him. It was a Thursday, and that
+evening Caspar Goodwood came to Palazzo Roccanera. He was among the
+first to arrive, and he spent some time in conversation with Gilbert
+Osmond, who almost always was present when his wife received. They sat
+down together, and Osmond, talkative, communicative, expansive, seemed
+possessed with a kind of intellectual gaiety. He leaned back with his
+legs crossed, lounging and chatting, while Goodwood, more restless, but
+not at all lively, shifted his position, played with his hat, made the
+little sofa creak beneath him. Osmond's face wore a sharp, aggressive
+smile; he was as a man whose perceptions have been quickened by good
+news. He remarked to Goodwood that he was sorry they were to lose him;
+he himself should particularly miss him. He saw so few intelligent
+men--they were surprisingly scarce in Rome. He must be sure to come
+back; there was something very refreshing, to an inveterate Italian like
+himself, in talking with a genuine outsider.
+
+"I'm very fond of Rome, you know," Osmond said; "but there's nothing
+I like better than to meet people who haven't that superstition. The
+modern world's after all very fine. Now you're thoroughly modern and yet
+are not at all common. So many of the moderns we see are such very poor
+stuff. If they're the children of the future we're willing to die young.
+Of course the ancients too are often very tiresome. My wife and I like
+everything that's really new--not the mere pretence of it. There's
+nothing new, unfortunately, in ignorance and stupidity. We see plenty
+of that in forms that offer themselves as a revelation of progress, of
+light. A revelation of vulgarity! There's a certain kind of vulgarity
+which I believe is really new; I don't think there ever was anything
+like it before. Indeed I don't find vulgarity, at all, before the
+present century. You see a faint menace of it here and there in the
+last, but to-day the air has grown so dense that delicate things
+are literally not recognised. Now, we've liked you--!" With which
+he hesitated a moment, laying his hand gently on Goodwood's knee and
+smiling with a mixture of assurance and embarrassment. "I'm going to say
+something extremely offensive and patronising, but you must let me
+have the satisfaction of it. We've liked you because--because you've
+reconciled us a little to the future. If there are to be a certain
+number of people like you--a la bonne heure! I'm talking for my wife as
+well as for myself, you see. She speaks for me, my wife; why shouldn't
+I speak for her? We're as united, you know, as the candlestick and the
+snuffers. Am I assuming too much when I say that I think I've understood
+from you that your occupations have been--a--commercial? There's a
+danger in that, you know; but it's the way you have escaped that
+strikes us. Excuse me if my little compliment seems in execrable taste;
+fortunately my wife doesn't hear me. What I mean is that you might have
+been--a--what I was mentioning just now. The whole American world was
+in a conspiracy to make you so. But you resisted, you've something about
+you that saved you. And yet you're so modern, so modern; the most modern
+man we know! We shall always be delighted to see you again."
+
+I have said that Osmond was in good humour, and these remarks will give
+ample evidence of the fact. They were infinitely more personal than he
+usually cared to be, and if Caspar Goodwood had attended to them more
+closely he might have thought that the defence of delicacy was in rather
+odd hands. We may believe, however, that Osmond knew very well what
+he was about, and that if he chose to use the tone of patronage with a
+grossness not in his habits he had an excellent reason for the escapade.
+Goodwood had only a vague sense that he was laying it on somehow; he
+scarcely knew where the mixture was applied. Indeed he scarcely knew
+what Osmond was talking about; he wanted to be alone with Isabel, and
+that idea spoke louder to him than her husband's perfectly-pitched
+voice. He watched her talking with other people and wondered when she
+would be at liberty and whether he might ask her to go into one of the
+other rooms. His humour was not, like Osmond's, of the best; there was
+an element of dull rage in his consciousness of things. Up to this time
+he had not disliked Osmond personally; he had only thought him very
+well-informed and obliging and more than he had supposed like the person
+whom Isabel Archer would naturally marry. His host had won in the open
+field a great advantage over him, and Goodwood had too strong a sense
+of fair play to have been moved to underrate him on that account. He
+had not tried positively to think well of him; this was a flight of
+sentimental benevolence of which, even in the days when he came
+nearest to reconciling himself to what had happened, Goodwood was
+quite incapable. He accepted him as rather a brilliant personage of the
+amateurish kind, afflicted with a redundancy of leisure which it amused
+him to work off in little refinements of conversation. But he only half
+trusted him; he could never make out why the deuce Osmond should lavish
+refinements of any sort upon HIM. It made him suspect that he found some
+private entertainment in it, and it ministered to a general impression
+that his triumphant rival had in his composition a streak of perversity.
+He knew indeed that Osmond could have no reason to wish him evil; he
+had nothing to fear from him. He had carried off a supreme advantage and
+could afford to be kind to a man who had lost everything. It was true
+that Goodwood had at times grimly wished he were dead and would have
+liked to kill him; but Osmond had no means of knowing this, for practice
+had made the younger man perfect in the art of appearing inaccessible
+to-day to any violent emotion. He cultivated this art in order to
+deceive himself, but it was others that he deceived first. He cultivated
+it, moreover, with very limited success; of which there could be no
+better proof than the deep, dumb irritation that reigned in his
+soul when he heard Osmond speak of his wife's feelings as if he were
+commissioned to answer for them.
+
+That was all he had had an ear for in what his host said to him this
+evening; he had been conscious that Osmond made more of a point even
+than usual of referring to the conjugal harmony prevailing at Palazzo
+Roccanera. He had been more careful than ever to speak as if he and his
+wife had all things in sweet community and it were as natural to each
+of them to say "we" as to say "I". In all this there was an air of
+intention that had puzzled and angered our poor Bostonian, who could
+only reflect for his comfort that Mrs. Osmond's relations with her
+husband were none of his business. He had no proof whatever that her
+husband misrepresented her, and if he judged her by the surface of
+things was bound to believe that she liked her life. She had never given
+him the faintest sign of discontent. Miss Stackpole had told him that
+she had lost her illusions, but writing for the papers had made Miss
+Stackpole sensational. She was too fond of early news. Moreover, since
+her arrival in Rome she had been much on her guard; she had pretty well
+ceased to flash her lantern at him. This indeed, it may be said for
+her, would have been quite against her conscience. She had now seen
+the reality of Isabel's situation, and it had inspired her with a just
+reserve. Whatever could be done to improve it the most useful form of
+assistance would not be to inflame her former lovers with a sense of her
+wrongs. Miss Stackpole continued to take a deep interest in the state
+of Mr. Goodwood's feelings, but she showed it at present only by sending
+him choice extracts, humorous and other, from the American journals, of
+which she received several by every post and which she always perused
+with a pair of scissors in her hand. The articles she cut out she placed
+in an envelope addressed to Mr. Goodwood, which she left with her own
+hand at his hotel. He never asked her a question about Isabel: hadn't
+he come five thousand miles to see for himself? He was thus not in the
+least authorised to think Mrs. Osmond unhappy; but the very absence of
+authorisation operated as an irritant, ministered to the harsh-ness
+with which, in spite of his theory that he had ceased to care, he now
+recognised that, so far as she was concerned, the future had nothing
+more for him. He had not even the satisfaction of knowing the truth;
+apparently he could not even be trusted to respect her if she WERE
+unhappy. He was hopeless, helpless, useless. To this last character
+she had called his attention by her ingenious plan for making him
+leave Rome. He had no objection whatever to doing what he could for
+her cousin, but it made him grind his teeth to think that of all the
+services she might have asked of him this was the one she had been eager
+to select. There had been no danger of her choosing one that would have
+kept him in Rome.
+
+To-night what he was chiefly thinking of was that he was to leave her
+to-morrow and that he had gained nothing by coming but the knowledge
+that he was as little wanted as ever. About herself he had gained no
+knowledge; she was imperturbable, inscrutable, impenetrable. He felt the
+old bitterness, which he had tried so hard to swallow, rise again in his
+throat, and he knew there are disappointments that last as long as life.
+Osmond went on talking; Goodwood was vaguely aware that he was touching
+again upon his perfect intimacy with his wife. It seemed to him for a
+moment that the man had a kind of demonic imagination; it was impossible
+that without malice he should have selected so unusual a topic. But what
+did it matter, after all, whether he were demonic or not, and whether
+she loved him or hated him? She might hate him to the death without
+one's gaining a straw one's self. "You travel, by the by, with Ralph
+Touchett," Osmond said. "I suppose that means you'll move slowly?"
+
+"I don't know. I shall do just as he likes."
+
+"You're very accommodating. We're immensely obliged to you; you must
+really let me say it. My wife has probably expressed to you what we
+feel. Touchett has been on our minds all winter; it has looked more than
+once as if he would never leave Rome. He ought never to have come; it's
+worse than an imprudence for people in that state to travel; it's a kind
+of indelicacy. I wouldn't for the world be under such an obligation to
+Touchett as he has been to--to my wife and me. Other people inevitably
+have to look after him, and every one isn't so generous as you."
+
+"I've nothing else to do," Caspar said dryly.
+
+Osmond looked at him a moment askance. "You ought to marry, and then
+you'd have plenty to do! It's true that in that case you wouldn't be
+quite so available for deeds of mercy."
+
+"Do you find that as a married man you're so much occupied?" the young
+man mechanically asked.
+
+"Ah, you see, being married's in itself an occupation. It isn't always
+active; it's often passive; but that takes even more attention. Then my
+wife and I do so many things together. We read, we study, we make music,
+we walk, we drive--we talk even, as when we first knew each other. I
+delight, to this hour, in my wife's conversation. If you're ever bored
+take my advice and get married. Your wife indeed may bore you, in that
+case; but you'll never bore yourself. You'll always have something to
+say to yourself--always have a subject of reflection."
+
+"I'm not bored," said Goodwood. "I've plenty to think about and to say
+to myself."
+
+"More than to say to others!" Osmond exclaimed with a light laugh.
+"Where shall you go next? I mean after you've consigned Touchett to his
+natural caretakers--I believe his mother's at last coming back to look
+after him. That little lady's superb; she neglects her duties with a
+finish--! Perhaps you'll spend the summer in England?"
+
+"I don't know. I've no plans."
+
+"Happy man! That's a little bleak, but it's very free."
+
+"Oh yes, I'm very free."
+
+"Free to come back to Rome I hope," said Osmond as he saw a group of
+new visitors enter the room. "Remember that when you do come we count on
+you!"
+
+Goodwood had meant to go away early, but the evening elapsed without
+his having a chance to speak to Isabel otherwise than as one of several
+associated interlocutors. There was something perverse in the inveteracy
+with which she avoided him; his unquenchable rancour discovered an
+intention where there was certainly no appearance of one. There was
+absolutely no appearance of one. She met his eyes with her clear
+hospitable smile, which seemed almost to ask that he would come and help
+her to entertain some of her visitors. To such suggestions, however, he
+opposed but a stiff impatience. He wandered about and waited; he talked
+to the few people he knew, who found him for the first time rather
+self-contradictory. This was indeed rare with Caspar Goodwood, though he
+often contradicted others. There was often music at Palazzo Roccanera,
+and it was usually very good. Under cover of the music he managed to
+contain himself; but toward the end, when he saw the people beginning to
+go, he drew near to Isabel and asked her in a low tone if he might
+not speak to her in one of the other rooms, which he had just assured
+himself was empty. She smiled as if she wished to oblige him but found
+her self absolutely prevented. "I'm afraid it's impossible. People are
+saying good-night, and I must be where they can see me."
+
+"I shall wait till they are all gone then."
+
+She hesitated a moment. "Ah, that will be delightful!" she exclaimed.
+
+And he waited, though it took a long time yet. There were several
+people, at the end, who seemed tethered to the carpet. The Countess
+Gemini, who was never herself till midnight, as she said, displayed no
+consciousness that the entertainment was over; she had still a little
+circle of gentlemen in front of the fire, who every now and then broke
+into a united laugh. Osmond had disappeared--he never bade good-bye to
+people; and as the Countess was extending her range, according to her
+custom at this period of the evening, Isabel had sent Pansy to bed.
+Isabel sat a little apart; she too appeared to wish her sister-in-law
+would sound a lower note and let the last loiterers depart in peace.
+
+"May I not say a word to you now?" Goodwood presently asked her. She
+got up immediately, smiling. "Certainly, we'll go somewhere else if you
+like." They went together, leaving the Countess with her little circle,
+and for a moment after they had crossed the threshold neither of them
+spoke. Isabel would not sit down; she stood in the middle of the room
+slowly fanning herself; she had for him the same familiar grace. She
+seemed to wait for him to speak. Now that he was alone with her all the
+passion he had never stifled surged into his senses; it hummed in his
+eyes and made things swim round him. The bright, empty room grew dim and
+blurred, and through the heaving veil he felt her hover before him with
+gleaming eyes and parted lips. If he had seen more distinctly he would
+have perceived her smile was fixed and a trifle forced--that she was
+frightened at what she saw in his own face. "I suppose you wish to bid
+me goodbye?" she said.
+
+"Yes--but I don't like it. I don't want to leave Rome," he answered with
+almost plaintive honesty.
+
+"I can well imagine. It's wonderfully good of you. I can't tell you how
+kind I think you."
+
+For a moment more he said nothing. "With a few words like that you make
+me go."
+
+"You must come back some day," she brightly returned.
+
+"Some day? You mean as long a time hence as possible."
+
+"Oh no; I don't mean all that."
+
+"What do you mean? I don't understand! But I said I'd go, and I'll go,"
+Goodwood added.
+
+"Come back whenever you like," said Isabel with attempted lightness.
+
+"I don't care a straw for your cousin!" Caspar broke out.
+
+"Is that what you wished to tell me?"
+
+"No, no; I didn't want to tell you anything; I wanted to ask you--" he
+paused a moment, and then--"what have you really made of your life?" he
+said, in a low, quick tone. He paused again, as if for an answer; but
+she said nothing, and he went on: "I can't understand, I can't penetrate
+you! What am I to believe--what do you want me to think?" Still she said
+nothing; she only stood looking at him, now quite without pretending to
+ease. "I'm told you're unhappy, and if you are I should like to know it.
+That would be something for me. But you yourself say you're happy, and
+you're somehow so still, so smooth, so hard. You're completely changed.
+You conceal everything; I haven't really come near you."
+
+"You come very near," Isabel said gently, but in a tone of warning.
+
+"And yet I don't touch you! I want to know the truth. Have you done
+well?"
+
+"You ask a great deal."
+
+"Yes--I've always asked a great deal. Of course you won't tell me. I
+shall never know if you can help it. And then it's none of my business."
+He had spoken with a visible effort to control himself, to give a
+considerate form to an inconsiderate state of mind. But the sense that
+it was his last chance, that he loved her and had lost her, that she
+would think him a fool whatever he should say, suddenly gave him a
+lash and added a deep vibration to his low voice. "You're perfectly
+inscrutable, and that's what makes me think you've something to hide. I
+tell you I don't care a straw for your cousin, but I don't mean that I
+don't like him. I mean that it isn't because I like him that I go away
+with him. I'd go if he were an idiot and you should have asked me. If
+you should ask me I'd go to Siberia tomorrow. Why do you want me to
+leave the place? You must have some reason for that; if you were as
+contented as you pretend you are you wouldn't care. I'd rather know the
+truth about you, even if it's damnable, than have come here for nothing.
+That isn't what I came for. I thought I shouldn't care. I came because I
+wanted to assure myself that I needn't think of you any more. I haven't
+thought of anything else, and you're quite right to wish me to go away.
+But if I must go, there's no harm in my letting myself out for a single
+moment, is there? If you're really hurt--if HE hurts you--nothing I say
+will hurt you. When I tell you I love you it's simply what I came for. I
+thought it was for something else; but it was for that. I shouldn't
+say it if I didn't believe I should never see you again. It's the last
+time--let me pluck a single flower! I've no right to say that, I know;
+and you've no right to listen. But you don't listen; you never listen,
+you're always thinking of something else. After this I must go, of
+course; so I shall at least have a reason. Your asking me is no reason,
+not a real one. I can't judge by your husband," he went on irrelevantly,
+almost incoherently; "I don't understand him; he tells me you adore each
+other. Why does he tell me that? What business is it of mine? When I say
+that to you, you look strange. But you always look strange. Yes, you've
+something to hide. It's none of my business--very true. But I love you,"
+said Caspar Goodwood.
+
+As he said, she looked strange. She turned her eyes to the door by which
+they had entered and raised her fan as if in warning.
+
+"You've behaved so well; don't spoil it," she uttered softly.
+
+"No one hears me. It's wonderful what you tried to put me off with. I
+love you as I've never loved you."
+
+"I know it. I knew it as soon as you consented to go."
+
+"You can't help it--of course not. You would if you could, but
+you can't, unfortunately. Unfortunately for me, I mean. I ask
+nothing--nothing, that is, I shouldn't. But I do ask one sole
+satisfaction:--that you tell me--that you tell me--!"
+
+"That I tell you what?"
+
+"Whether I may pity you."
+
+"Should you like that?" Isabel asked, trying to smile again.
+
+"To pity you? Most assuredly! That at least would be doing something.
+I'd give my life to it."
+
+She raised her fan to her face, which it covered all except her eyes.
+They rested a moment on his. "Don't give your life to it; but give a
+thought to it every now and then." And with that she went back to the
+Countess Gemini.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX
+
+Madame Merle had not made her appearance at Palazzo Roccanera on the
+evening of that Thursday of which I have narrated some of the incidents,
+and Isabel, though she observed her absence, was not surprised by it.
+Things had passed between them which added no stimulus to sociability,
+and to appreciate which we must glance a little backward. It has been
+mentioned that Madame Merle returned from Naples shortly after Lord
+Warburton had left Rome, and that on her first meeting with Isabel
+(whom, to do her justice, she came immediately to see) her first
+utterance had been an enquiry as to the whereabouts of this nobleman,
+for whom she appeared to hold her dear friend accountable.
+
+"Please don't talk of him," said Isabel for answer; "we've heard so much
+of him of late."
+
+Madame Merle bent her head on one side a little, protestingly, and
+smiled at the left corner of her mouth. "You've heard, yes. But you must
+remember that I've not, in Naples. I hoped to find him here and to be
+able to congratulate Pansy."
+
+"You may congratulate Pansy still; but not on marrying Lord Warburton."
+
+"How you say that! Don't you know I had set my heart on it?" Madame
+Merle asked with a great deal of spirit, but still with the intonation
+of good-humour.
+
+Isabel was discomposed, but she was determined to be good-humoured too.
+"You shouldn't have gone to Naples then. You should have stayed here to
+watch the affair."
+
+"I had too much confidence in you. But do you think it's too late?"
+
+"You had better ask Pansy," said Isabel.
+
+"I shall ask her what you've said to her."
+
+These words seemed to justify the impulse of self-defence aroused
+on Isabel's part by her perceiving that her visitor's attitude was a
+critical one. Madame Merle, as we know, had been very discreet hitherto;
+she had never criticised; she had been markedly afraid of intermeddling.
+But apparently she had only reserved herself for this occasion, since
+she now had a dangerous quickness in her eye and an air of irritation
+which even her admirable ease was not able to transmute. She had
+suffered a disappointment which excited Isabel's surprise--our heroine
+having no knowledge of her zealous interest in Pansy's marriage; and
+she betrayed it in a manner which quickened Mrs. Osmond's alarm. More
+clearly than ever before Isabel heard a cold, mocking voice proceed from
+she knew not where, in the dim void that surrounded her, and declare
+that this bright, strong, definite, worldly woman, this incarnation of
+the practical, the personal, the immediate, was a powerful agent in her
+destiny. She was nearer to her than Isabel had yet discovered, and her
+nearness was not the charming accident she had so long supposed. The
+sense of accident indeed had died within her that day when she happened
+to be struck with the manner in which the wonderful lady and her own
+husband sat together in private. No definite suspicion had as yet
+taken its place; but it was enough to make her view this friend with a
+different eye, to have been led to reflect that there was more intention
+in her past behaviour than she had allowed for at the time. Ah yes,
+there had been intention, there had been intention, Isabel said to
+herself; and she seemed to wake from a long pernicious dream. What was
+it that brought home to her that Madame Merle's intention had not been
+good? Nothing but the mistrust which had lately taken body and which
+married itself now to the fruitful wonder produced by her visitor's
+challenge on behalf of poor Pansy. There was something in this challenge
+which had at the very outset excited an answering defiance; a nameless
+vitality which she could see to have been absent from her friend's
+professions of delicacy and caution. Madame Merle had been unwilling to
+interfere, certainly, but only so long as there was nothing to interfere
+with. It will perhaps seem to the reader that Isabel went fast in
+casting doubt, on mere suspicion, on a sincerity proved by several
+years of good offices. She moved quickly indeed, and with reason, for a
+strange truth was filtering into her soul. Madame Merle's interest was
+identical with Osmond's: that was enough. "I think Pansy will tell
+you nothing that will make you more angry," she said in answer to her
+companion's last remark.
+
+"I'm not in the least angry. I've only a great desire to retrieve the
+situation. Do you consider that Warburton has left us for ever?"
+
+"I can't tell you; I don't understand you. It's all over; please let it
+rest. Osmond has talked to me a great deal about it, and I've nothing
+more to say or to hear. I've no doubt," Isabel added, "that he'll be
+very happy to discuss the subject with you."
+
+"I know what he thinks; he came to see me last evening."
+
+"As soon as you had arrived? Then you know all about it and you needn't
+apply to me for information."
+
+"It isn't information I want. At bottom it's sympathy. I had set my
+heart on that marriage; the idea did what so few things do--it satisfied
+the imagination."
+
+"Your imagination, yes. But not that of the persons concerned."
+
+"You mean by that of course that I'm not concerned. Of course not
+directly. But when one's such an old friend one can't help having
+something at stake. You forget how long I've known Pansy. You mean,
+of course," Madame Merle added, "that YOU are one of the persons
+concerned."
+
+"No; that's the last thing I mean. I'm very weary of it all."
+
+Madame Merle hesitated a little. "Ah yes, your work's done."
+
+"Take care what you say," said Isabel very gravely.
+
+"Oh, I take care; never perhaps more than when it appears least. Your
+husband judges you severely."
+
+Isabel made for a moment no answer to this; she felt choked with
+bitterness. It was not the insolence of Madame Merle's informing her
+that Osmond had been taking her into his confidence as against his wife
+that struck her most; for she was not quick to believe that this was
+meant for insolence. Madame Merle was very rarely insolent, and only
+when it was exactly right. It was not right now, or at least it was not
+right yet. What touched Isabel like a drop of corrosive acid upon an
+open wound was the knowledge that Osmond dishonoured her in his words as
+well as in his thoughts. "Should you like to know how I judge HIM?" she
+asked at last.
+
+"No, because you'd never tell me. And it would be painful for me to
+know."
+
+There was a pause, and for the first time since she had known her Isabel
+thought Madame Merle disagreeable. She wished she would leave her.
+"Remember how attractive Pansy is, and don't despair," she said
+abruptly, with a desire that this should close their interview.
+
+But Madame Merle's expansive presence underwent no contraction. She only
+gathered her mantle about her and, with the movement, scattered upon the
+air a faint, agreeable fragrance. "I don't despair; I feel encouraged.
+And I didn't come to scold you; I came if possible to learn the truth. I
+know you'll tell it if I ask you. It's an immense blessing with you that
+one can count upon that. No, you won't believe what a comfort I take in
+it."
+
+"What truth do you speak of?" Isabel asked, wondering.
+
+"Just this: whether Lord Warburton changed his mind quite of his own
+movement or because you recommended it. To please himself I mean, or to
+please you. Think of the confidence I must still have in you, in spite
+of having lost a little of it," Madame Merle continued with a smile, "to
+ask such a question as that!" She sat looking at her friend, to judge
+the effect of her words, and then went on: "Now don't be heroic, don't
+be unreasonable, don't take offence. It seems to me I do you an honour
+in speaking so. I don't know another woman to whom I would do it. I
+haven't the least idea that any other woman would tell me the truth. And
+don't you see how well it is that your husband should know it? It's
+true that he doesn't appear to have had any tact whatever in trying to
+extract it; he has indulged in gratuitous suppositions. But that doesn't
+alter the fact that it would make a difference in his view of his
+daughter's prospects to know distinctly what really occurred. If Lord
+Warburton simply got tired of the poor child, that's one thing, and it's
+a pity. If he gave her up to please you it's another. That's a pity too,
+but in a different way. Then, in the latter case, you'd perhaps resign
+yourself to not being pleased--to simply seeing your step-daughter
+married. Let him off--let us have him!"
+
+Madame Merle had proceeded very deliberately, watching her companion and
+apparently thinking she could proceed safely. As she went on Isabel grew
+pale; she clasped her hands more tightly in her lap. It was not that her
+visitor had at last thought it the right time to be insolent; for this
+was not what was most apparent. It was a worse horror than that. "Who
+are you--what are you?" Isabel murmured. "What have you to do with my
+husband?" It was strange that for the moment she drew as near to him as
+if she had loved him.
+
+"Ah then, you take it heroically! I'm very sorry. Don't think, however,
+that I shall do so."
+
+"What have you to do with me?" Isabel went on.
+
+Madame Merle slowly got up, stroking her muff, but not removing her eyes
+from Isabel's face. "Everything!" she answered.
+
+Isabel sat there looking up at her, without rising; her face was almost
+a prayer to be enlightened. But the light of this woman's eyes seemed
+only a darkness. "Oh misery!" she murmured at last; and she fell
+back, covering her face with her hands. It had come over her like a
+high-surging wave that Mrs. Touchett was right. Madame Merle had married
+her. Before she uncovered her face again that lady had left the room.
+
+Isabel took a drive alone that afternoon; she wished to be far away,
+under the sky, where she could descend from her carriage and tread
+upon the daisies. She had long before this taken old Rome into her
+confidence, for in a world of ruins the ruin of her happiness seemed a
+less unnatural catastrophe. She rested her weariness upon things that
+had crumbled for centuries and yet still were upright; she dropped her
+secret sadness into the silence of lonely places, where its very modern
+quality detached itself and grew objective, so that as she sat in a
+sun-warmed angle on a winter's day, or stood in a mouldy church to which
+no one came, she could almost smile at it and think of its smallness.
+Small it was, in the large Roman record, and her haunting sense of the
+continuity of the human lot easily carried her from the less to the
+greater. She had become deeply, tenderly acquainted with Rome; it
+interfused and moderated her passion. But she had grown to think of it
+chiefly as the place where people had suffered. This was what came to
+her in the starved churches, where the marble columns, transferred from
+pagan ruins, seemed to offer her a companionship in endurance and the
+musty incense to be a compound of long-unanswered prayers. There was
+no gentler nor less consistent heretic than Isabel; the firmest of
+worshippers, gazing at dark altar-pictures or clustered candles, could
+not have felt more intimately the suggestiveness of these objects nor
+have been more liable at such moments to a spiritual visitation. Pansy,
+as we know, was almost always her companion, and of late the Countess
+Gemini, balancing a pink parasol, had lent brilliancy to their equipage;
+but she still occasionally found herself alone when it suited her
+mood and where it suited the place. On such occasions she had several
+resorts; the most accessible of which perhaps was a seat on the low
+parapet which edges the wide grassy space before the high, cold front
+of Saint John Lateran, whence you look across the Campagna at the
+far-trailing outline of the Alban Mount and at that mighty plain,
+between, which is still so full of all that has passed from it. After
+the departure of her cousin and his companions she roamed more than
+usual; she carried her sombre spirit from one familiar shrine to the
+other. Even when Pansy and the Countess were with her she felt the touch
+of a vanished world. The carriage, leaving the walls of Rome behind,
+rolled through narrow lanes where the wild honeysuckle had begun to
+tangle itself in the hedges, or waited for her in quiet places where
+the fields lay near, while she strolled further and further over the
+flower-freckled turf, or sat on a stone that had once had a use and
+gazed through the veil of her personal sadness at the splendid sadness
+of the scene--at the dense, warm light, the far gradations and soft
+confusions of colour, the motionless shepherds in lonely attitudes, the
+hills where the cloud-shadows had the lightness of a blush.
+
+On the afternoon I began with speaking of, she had taken a resolution
+not to think of Madame Merle; but the resolution proved vain, and this
+lady's image hovered constantly before her. She asked herself, with an
+almost childlike horror of the supposition, whether to this intimate
+friend of several years the great historical epithet of wicked were
+to be applied. She knew the idea only by the Bible and other literary
+works; to the best of her belief she had had no personal acquaintance
+with wickedness. She had desired a large acquaintance with human life,
+and in spite of her having flattered herself that she cultivated it with
+some success this elementary privilege had been denied her. Perhaps it
+was not wicked--in the historic sense--to be even deeply false; for that
+was what Madame Merle had been--deeply, deeply, deeply. Isabel's Aunt
+Lydia had made this discovery long before, and had mentioned it to her
+niece; but Isabel had flattered herself at this time that she had a much
+richer view of things, especially of the spontaneity of her own
+career and the nobleness of her own interpretations, than poor
+stiffly-reasoning Mrs. Touchett. Madame Merle had done what she wanted;
+she had brought about the union of her two friends; a reflection which
+could not fail to make it a matter of wonder that she should so much
+have desired such an event. There were people who had the match-making
+passion, like the votaries of art for art; but Madame Merle, great
+artist as she was, was scarcely one of these. She thought too ill of
+marriage, too ill even of life; she had desired that particular marriage
+but had not desired others. She had therefore had a conception of gain,
+and Isabel asked herself where she had found her profit. It took her
+naturally a long time to discover, and even then her discovery was
+imperfect. It came back to her that Madame Merle, though she had seemed
+to like her from their first meeting at Gardencourt, had been doubly
+affectionate after Mr. Touchett's death and after learning that her
+young friend had been subject to the good old man's charity. She had
+found her profit not in the gross device of borrowing money, but in
+the more refined idea of introducing one of her intimates to the young
+woman's fresh and ingenuous fortune. She had naturally chosen her
+closest intimate, and it was already vivid enough to Isabel that Gilbert
+occupied this position. She found herself confronted in this manner with
+the conviction that the man in the world whom she had supposed to be the
+least sordid had married her, like a vulgar adventurer, for her money.
+Strange to say, it had never before occurred to her; if she had thought
+a good deal of harm of Osmond she had not done him this particular
+injury. This was the worst she could think of, and she had been saying
+to herself that the worst was still to come. A man might marry a woman
+for her money perfectly well; the thing was often done. But at least
+he should let her know. She wondered whether, since he had wanted her
+money, her money would now satisfy him. Would he take her money and let
+her go. Ah, if Mr. Touchett's great charity would but help her to-day it
+would be blessed indeed! It was not slow to occur to her that if Madame
+Merle had wished to do Gilbert a service his recognition to her of the
+boon must have lost its warmth. What must be his feelings to-day in
+regard to his too zealous benefactress, and what expression must they
+have found on the part of such a master of irony? It is a singular, but
+a characteristic, fact that before Isabel returned from her silent drive
+she had broken its silence by the soft exclamation: "Poor, poor Madame
+Merle!"
+
+Her compassion would perhaps have been justified if on this same
+afternoon she had been concealed behind one of the valuable curtains of
+time-softened damask which dressed the interesting little salon of the
+lady to whom it referred; the carefully-arranged apartment to which
+we once paid a visit in company with the discreet Mr. Rosier. In that
+apartment, towards six o'clock, Gilbert Osmond was seated, and his
+hostess stood before him as Isabel had seen her stand on an occasion
+commemorated in this history with an emphasis appropriate not so much to
+its apparent as to its real importance.
+
+"I don't believe you're unhappy; I believe you like it," said Madame
+Merle.
+
+"Did I say I was unhappy?" Osmond asked with a face grave enough to
+suggest that he might have been.
+
+"No, but you don't say the contrary, as you ought in common gratitude."
+
+"Don't talk about gratitude," he returned dryly. "And don't aggravate
+me," he added in a moment.
+
+Madame Merle slowly seated herself, with her arms folded and her white
+hands arranged as a support to one of them and an ornament, as it were,
+to the other. She looked exquisitely calm but impressively sad. "On
+your side, don't try to frighten me. I wonder if you guess some of my
+thoughts."
+
+"I trouble about them no more than I can help. I've quite enough of my
+own."
+
+"That's because they're so delightful."
+
+Osmond rested his head against the back of his chair and looked at
+his companion with a cynical directness which seemed also partly an
+expression of fatigue. "You do aggravate me," he remarked in a moment.
+"I'm very tired."
+
+"Eh moi donc!" cried Madame Merle.
+
+"With you it's because you fatigue yourself. With me it's not my own
+fault."
+
+"When I fatigue myself it's for you. I've given you an interest. That's
+a great gift."
+
+"Do you call it an interest?" Osmond enquired with detachment.
+
+"Certainly, since it helps you to pass your time."
+
+"The time has never seemed longer to me than this winter."
+
+"You've never looked better; you've never been so agreeable, so
+brilliant."
+
+"Damn my brilliancy!" he thoughtfully murmured. "How little, after all,
+you know me!"
+
+"If I don't know you I know nothing," smiled Madame Merle. "You've the
+feeling of complete success."
+
+"No, I shall not have that till I've made you stop judging me."
+
+"I did that long ago. I speak from old knowledge. But you express
+yourself more too."
+
+Osmond just hung fire. "I wish you'd express yourself less!"
+
+"You wish to condemn me to silence? Remember that I've never been a
+chatterbox. At any rate there are three or four things I should like to
+say to you first. Your wife doesn't know what to do with herself," she
+went on with a change of tone.
+
+"Pardon me; she knows perfectly. She has a line sharply drawn. She means
+to carry out her ideas."
+
+"Her ideas to-day must be remarkable."
+
+"Certainly they are. She has more of them than ever."
+
+"She was unable to show me any this morning," said Madame Merle. "She
+seemed in a very simple, almost in a stupid, state of mind. She was
+completely bewildered."
+
+"You had better say at once that she was pathetic."
+
+"Ah no, I don't want to encourage you too much."
+
+He still had his head against the cushion behind him; the ankle of one
+foot rested on the other knee. So he sat for a while. "I should like to
+know what's the matter with you," he said at last.
+
+"The matter--the matter--!" And here Madame Merle stopped. Then she went
+on with a sudden outbreak of passion, a burst of summer thunder in a
+clear sky: "The matter is that I would give my right hand to be able to
+weep, and that I can't!"
+
+"What good would it do you to weep?"
+
+"It would make me feel as I felt before I knew you."
+
+"If I've dried your tears, that's something. But I've seen you shed
+them."
+
+"Oh, I believe you'll make me cry still. I mean make me howl like a
+wolf. I've a great hope, I've a great need, of that. I was vile this
+morning; I was horrid," she said.
+
+"If Isabel was in the stupid state of mind you mention she probably
+didn't perceive it," Osmond answered.
+
+"It was precisely my deviltry that stupefied her. I couldn't help it; I
+was full of something bad. Perhaps it was something good; I don't know.
+You've not only dried up my tears; you've dried up my soul."
+
+"It's not I then that am responsible for my wife's condition," Osmond
+said. "It's pleasant to think that I shall get the benefit of your
+influence upon her. Don't you know the soul is an immortal principle?
+How can it suffer alteration?"
+
+"I don't believe at all that it's an immortal principle. I believe it
+can perfectly be destroyed. That's what has happened to mine, which
+was a very good one to start with; and it's you I have to thank for it.
+You're VERY bad," she added with gravity in her emphasis.
+
+"Is this the way we're to end?" Osmond asked with the same studied
+coldness.
+
+"I don't know how we're to end. I wish I did--How do bad people
+end?--especially as to their COMMON crimes. You have made me as bad as
+yourself."
+
+"I don't understand you. You seem to me quite good enough," said Osmond,
+his conscious indifference giving an extreme effect to the words.
+
+Madame Merle's self-possession tended on the contrary to diminish, and
+she was nearer losing it than on any occasion on which we have had the
+pleasure of meeting her. The glow of her eye turners sombre; her smile
+betrayed a painful effort. "Good enough for anything that I've done with
+myself? I suppose that's what you mean."
+
+"Good enough to be always charming!" Osmond exclaimed, smiling too.
+
+"Oh God!" his companion murmured; and, sitting there in her ripe
+freshness, she had recourse to the same gesture she had provoked on
+Isabel's part in the morning: she bent her face and covered it with her
+hands.
+
+"Are you going to weep after all?" Osmond asked; and on her remaining
+motionless he went on: "Have I ever complained to you?"
+
+She dropped her hands quickly. "No, you've taken your revenge
+otherwise--you have taken it on HER."
+
+Osmond threw back his head further; he looked a while at the ceiling
+and might have been supposed to be appealing, in an informal way, to the
+heavenly powers. "Oh, the imagination of women! It's always vulgar, at
+bottom. You talk of revenge like a third-rate novelist."
+
+"Of course you haven't complained. You've enjoyed your triumph too
+much."
+
+"I'm rather curious to know what you call my triumph."
+
+"You've made your wife afraid of you."
+
+Osmond changed his position; he leaned forward, resting his elbows on
+his knees and looking a while at a beautiful old Persian rug, at
+his feet. He had an air of refusing to accept any one's valuation
+of anything, even of time, and of preferring to abide by his own; a
+peculiarity which made him at moments an irritating person to converse
+with. "Isabel's not afraid of me, and it's not what I wish," he said
+at last. "To what do you want to provoke me when you say such things as
+that?"
+
+"I've thought over all the harm you can do me," Madame Merle answered.
+"Your wife was afraid of me this morning, but in me it was really you
+she feared."
+
+"You may have said things that were in very bad taste; I'm not
+responsible for that. I didn't see the use of your going to see her at
+all: you're capable of acting without her. I've not made you afraid of
+me that I can see," he went on; "how then should I have made her? You're
+at least as brave. I can't think where you've picked up such rubbish;
+one might suppose you knew me by this time." He got up as he spoke and
+walked to the chimney, where he stood a moment bending his eye, as if
+he had seen them for the first time, on the delicate specimens of rare
+porcelain with which it was covered. He took up a small cup and held it
+in his hand; then, still holding it and leaning his arm on the mantel,
+he pursued: "You always see too much in everything; you overdo it; you
+lose sight of the real. I'm much simpler than you think."
+
+"I think you're very simple." And Madame Merle kept her eye on her cup.
+"I've come to that with time. I judged you, as I say, of old; but it's
+only since your marriage that I've understood you. I've seen better what
+you have been to your wife than I ever saw what you were for me. Please
+be very careful of that precious object."
+
+"It already has a wee bit of a tiny crack," said Osmond dryly as he put
+it down. "If you didn't understand me before I married it was cruelly
+rash of you to put me into such a box. However, I took a fancy to my box
+myself; I thought it would be a comfortable fit. I asked very little; I
+only asked that she should like me."
+
+"That she should like you so much!"
+
+"So much, of course; in such a case one asks the maximum. That she
+should adore me, if you will. Oh yes, I wanted that."
+
+"I never adored you," said Madame Merle.
+
+"Ah, but you pretended to!"
+
+"It's true that you never accused me of being a comfortable fit," Madame
+Merle went on.
+
+"My wife has declined--declined to do anything of the sort," said
+Osmond. "If you're determined to make a tragedy of that, the tragedy's
+hardly for her."
+
+"The tragedy's for me!" Madame Merle exclaimed, rising with a long
+low sigh but having a glance at the same time for the contents of her
+mantel-shelf.
+
+"It appears that I'm to be severely taught the disadvantages of a false
+position."
+
+"You express yourself like a sentence in a copybook. We must look for
+our comfort where we can find it. If my wife doesn't like me, at least
+my child does. I shall look for compensations in Pansy. Fortunately I
+haven't a fault to find with her."
+
+"Ah," she said softly, "if I had a child--!"
+
+Osmond waited, and then, with a little formal air, "The children of
+others may be a great interest!" he announced.
+
+"You're more like a copy-book than I. There's something after all that
+holds us together."
+
+"Is it the idea of the harm I may do you?" Osmond asked.
+
+"No; it's the idea of the good I may do for you. It's that," Madame
+Merle pursued, "that made me so jealous of Isabel. I want it to be
+MY work," she added, with her face, which had grown hard and bitter,
+relaxing to its habit of smoothness.
+
+Her friend took up his hat and his umbrella, and after giving the
+former article two or three strokes with his coat-cuff, "On the whole, I
+think," he said, "you had better leave it to me."
+
+After he had left her she went, the first thing, and lifted from the
+mantel-shelf the attenuated coffee-cup in which he had mentioned the
+existence of a crack; but she looked at it rather abstractedly. "Have I
+been so vile all for nothing?" she vaguely wailed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER L
+
+As the Countess Gemini was not acquainted with the ancient monuments
+Isabel occasionally offered to introduce her to these interesting relics
+and to give their afternoon drive an antiquarian aim. The Countess, who
+professed to think her sister-in-law a prodigy of learning, never made
+an objection, and gazed at masses of Roman brickwork as patiently as if
+they had been mounds of modern drapery. She had not the historic sense,
+though she had in some directions the anecdotic, and as regards herself
+the apologetic, but she was so delighted to be in Rome that she only
+desired to float with the current. She would gladly have passed an hour
+every day in the damp darkness of the Baths of Titus if it had been a
+condition of her remaining at Palazzo Roccanera. Isabel, however, was
+not a severe cicerone; she used to visit the ruins chiefly because they
+offered an excuse for talking about other matters than the love affairs
+of the ladies of Florence, as to which her companion was never weary
+of offering information. It must be added that during these visits the
+Countess forbade herself every form of active research; her preference
+was to sit in the carriage and exclaim that everything was most
+interesting. It was in this manner that she had hitherto examined the
+Coliseum, to the infinite regret of her niece, who--with all the respect
+that she owed her--could not see why she should not descend from the
+vehicle and enter the building. Pansy had so little chance to ramble
+that her view of the case was not wholly disinterested; it may be
+divined that she had a secret hope that, once inside, her parents' guest
+might be induced to climb to the upper tiers. There came a day when
+the Countess announced her willingness to undertake this feat--a mild
+afternoon in March when the windy month expressed itself in occasional
+puffs of spring. The three ladies went into the Coliseum together,
+but Isabel left her companions to wander over the place. She had often
+ascended to those desolate ledges from which the Roman crowd used to
+bellow applause and where now the wild flowers (when they are allowed)
+bloom in the deep crevices; and to-day she felt weary and disposed
+to sit in the despoiled arena. It made an intermission too, for the
+Countess often asked more from one's attention than she gave in return;
+and Isabel believed that when she was alone with her niece she let the
+dust gather for a moment on the ancient scandals of the Arnide. She so
+remained below therefore, while Pansy guided her undiscriminating aunt
+to the steep brick staircase at the foot of which the custodian unlocks
+the tall wooden gate. The great enclosure was half in shadow; the
+western sun brought out the pale red tone of the great blocks of
+travertine--the latent colour that is the only living element in the
+immense ruin. Here and there wandered a peasant or a tourist, looking
+up at the far sky-line where, in the clear stillness, a multitude of
+swallows kept circling and plunging. Isabel presently became aware
+that one of the other visitors, planted in the middle of the arena, had
+turned his attention to her own person and was looking at her with
+a certain little poise of the head which she had some weeks before
+perceived to be characteristic of baffled but indestructible purpose.
+Such an attitude, to-day, could belong only to Mr. Edward Rosier; and
+this gentleman proved in fact to have been considering the question of
+speaking to her. When he had assured himself that she was unaccompanied
+he drew near, remarking that though she would not answer his letters
+she would perhaps not wholly close her ears to his spoken eloquence. She
+replied that her stepdaughter was close at hand and that she could only
+give him five minutes; whereupon he took out his watch and sat down upon
+a broken block.
+
+"It's very soon told," said Edward Rosier. "I've sold all my bibelots!"
+Isabel gave instinctively an exclamation of horror; it was as if he had
+told her he had had all his teeth drawn. "I've sold them by auction at
+the Hotel Drouot," he went on. "The sale took place three days ago, and
+they've telegraphed me the result. It's magnificent."
+
+"I'm glad to hear it; but I wish you had kept your pretty things."
+
+"I have the money instead--fifty thousand dollars. Will Mr. Osmond think
+me rich enough now?"
+
+"Is it for that you did it?" Isabel asked gently.
+
+"For what else in the world could it be? That's the only thing I think
+of. I went to Paris and made my arrangements. I couldn't stop for the
+sale; I couldn't have seen them going off; I think it would have killed
+me. But I put them into good hands, and they brought high prices. I
+should tell you I have kept my enamels. Now I have the money in my
+pocket, and he can't say I'm poor!" the young man exclaimed defiantly.
+
+"He'll say now that you're not wise," said Isabel, as if Gilbert Osmond
+had never said this before.
+
+Rosier gave her a sharp look. "Do you mean that without my bibelots I'm
+nothing? Do you mean they were the best thing about me? That's what they
+told me in Paris; oh they were very frank about it. But they hadn't seen
+HER!"
+
+"My dear friend, you deserve to succeed," said Isabel very kindly.
+
+"You say that so sadly that it's the same as if you said I shouldn't."
+And he questioned her eyes with the clear trepidation of his own. He had
+the air of a man who knows he has been the talk of Paris for a week and
+is full half a head taller in consequence, but who also has a painful
+suspicion that in spite of this increase of stature one or two persons
+still have the perversity to think him diminutive. "I know what happened
+here while I was away," he went on; "What does Mr. Osmond expect after
+she has refused Lord Warburton?"
+
+Isabel debated. "That she'll marry another nobleman."
+
+"What other nobleman?"
+
+"One that he'll pick out."
+
+Rosier slowly got up, putting his watch into his waistcoat-pocket.
+"You're laughing at some one, but this time I don't think it's at me."
+
+"I didn't mean to laugh," said Isabel. "I laugh very seldom. Now you had
+better go away."
+
+"I feel very safe!" Rosier declared without moving. This might be; but
+it evidently made him feel more so to make the announcement in rather
+a loud voice, balancing himself a little complacently on his toes and
+looking all round the Coliseum as if it were filled with an audience.
+Suddenly Isabel saw him change colour; there was more of an audience
+than he had suspected. She turned and perceived that her two companions
+had returned from their excursion. "You must really go away," she said
+quickly. "Ah, my dear lady, pity me!" Edward Rosier murmured in a voice
+strangely at variance with the announcement I have just quoted. And then
+he added eagerly, like a man who in the midst of his misery is seized by
+a happy thought: "Is that lady the Countess Gemini? I've a great desire
+to be presented to her."
+
+Isabel looked at him a moment. "She has no influence with her brother."
+
+"Ah, what a monster you make him out!" And Rosier faced the Countess,
+who advanced, in front of Pansy, with an animation partly due perhaps
+to the fact that she perceived her sister-in-law to be engaged in
+conversation with a very pretty young man.
+
+"I'm glad you've kept your enamels!" Isabel called as she left him. She
+went straight to Pansy, who, on seeing Edward Rosier, had stopped short,
+with lowered eyes. "We'll go back to the carriage," she said gently.
+
+"Yes, it's getting late," Pansy returned more gently still. And she
+went on without a murmur, without faltering or glancing back. Isabel,
+however, allowing herself this last liberty, saw that a meeting had
+immediately taken place between the Countess and Mr. Rosier. He had
+removed his hat and was bowing and smiling; he had evidently introduced
+himself, while the Countess's expressive back displayed to Isabel's eye
+a gracious inclination. These facts, none the less, were presently lost
+to sight, for Isabel and Pansy took their places again in the carriage.
+Pansy, who faced her stepmother, at first kept her eyes fixed on her
+lap; then she raised them and rested them on Isabel's. There shone out
+of each of them a little melancholy ray--a spark of timid passion which
+touched Isabel to the heart. At the same time a wave of envy passed over
+her soul, as she compared the tremulous longing, the definite ideal
+of the child with her own dry despair. "Poor little Pansy!" she
+affectionately said.
+
+"Oh never mind!" Pansy answered in the tone of eager apology. And then
+there was a silence; the Countess was a long time coming. "Did you show
+your aunt everything, and did she enjoy it?" Isabel asked at last.
+
+"Yes, I showed her everything. I think she was very much pleased."
+
+"And you're not tired, I hope."
+
+"Oh no, thank you, I'm not tired."
+
+The Countess still remained behind, so that Isabel requested the footman
+to go into the Coliseum and tell her they were waiting. He presently
+returned with the announcement that the Signora Contessa begged them not
+to wait--she would come home in a cab!
+
+About a week after this lady's quick sympathies had enlisted themselves
+with Mr. Rosier, Isabel, going rather late to dress for dinner, found
+Pansy sitting in her room. The girl seemed to have been awaiting her;
+she got up from her low chair. "Pardon my taking the liberty," she said
+in a small voice. "It will be the last--for some time."
+
+Her voice was strange, and her eyes, widely opened, had an excited,
+frightened look. "You're not going away!" Isabel exclaimed.
+
+"I'm going to the convent."
+
+"To the convent?"
+
+Pansy drew nearer, till she was near enough to put her arms round
+Isabel and rest her head on her shoulder. She stood this way a moment,
+perfectly still; but her companion could feel her tremble. The quiver
+of her little body expressed everything she was unable to say. Isabel
+nevertheless pressed her. "Why are you going to the convent?"
+
+"Because papa thinks it best. He says a young girl's better, every now
+and then, for making a little retreat. He says the world, always the
+world, is very bad for a young girl. This is just a chance for a little
+seclusion--a little reflexion." Pansy spoke in short detached sentences,
+as if she could scarce trust herself; and then she added with a triumph
+of self-control: "I think papa's right; I've been so much in the world
+this winter."
+
+Her announcement had a strange effect on Isabel; it seemed to carry a
+larger meaning than the girl herself knew. "When was this decided?" she
+asked. "I've heard nothing of it."
+
+"Papa told me half an hour ago; he thought it better it shouldn't be
+too much talked about in advance. Madame Catherine's to come for me at a
+quarter past seven, and I'm only to take two frocks. It's only for a few
+weeks; I'm sure it will be very good. I shall find all those ladies who
+used to be so kind to me, and I shall see the little girls who are being
+educated. I'm very fond of little girls," said Pansy with an effect
+of diminutive grandeur. "And I'm also very fond of Mother Catherine. I
+shall be very quiet and think a great deal."
+
+Isabel listened to her, holding her breath; she was almost awe-struck.
+"Think of ME sometimes."
+
+"Ah, come and see me soon!" cried Pansy; and the cry was very different
+from the heroic remarks of which she had just delivered herself.
+
+Isabel could say nothing more; she understood nothing; she only felt how
+little she yet knew her husband. Her answer to his daughter was a long,
+tender kiss.
+
+Half an hour later she learned from her maid that Madame Catherine had
+arrived in a cab and had departed again with the signorina. On going to
+the drawing-room before dinner she found the Countess Gemini alone, and
+this lady characterised the incident by exclaiming, with a wonderful
+toss of the head, "En voila, ma chere, une pose!" But if it was an
+affectation she was at a loss to see what her husband affected. She
+could only dimly perceive that he had more traditions than she supposed.
+It had become her habit to be so careful as to what she said to him
+that, strange as it may appear, she hesitated, for several minutes after
+he had come in, to allude to his daughter's sudden departure: she
+spoke of it only after they were seated at table. But she had forbidden
+herself ever to ask Osmond a question. All she could do was to make a
+declaration, and there was one that came very naturally. "I shall miss
+Pansy very much."
+
+He looked a while, with his head inclined a little, at the basket of
+flowers in the middle of the table. "Ah yes," he said at last, "I had
+thought of that. You must go and see her, you know; but not too often. I
+dare say you wonder why I sent her to the good sisters; but I doubt if I
+can make you understand. It doesn't matter; don't trouble yourself about
+it. That's why I had not spoken of it. I didn't believe you would enter
+into it. But I've always had the idea; I've always thought it a part
+of the education of one's daughter. One's daughter should be fresh and
+fair; she should be innocent and gentle. With the manners of the present
+time she is liable to become so dusty and crumpled. Pansy's a little
+dusty, a little dishevelled; she has knocked about too much. This
+bustling, pushing rabble that calls itself society--one should take her
+out of it occasionally. Convents are very quiet, very convenient, very
+salutary. I like to think of her there, in the old garden, under
+the arcade, among those tranquil virtuous women. Many of them are
+gentlewomen born; several of them are noble. She will have her books
+and her drawing, she will have her piano. I've made the most liberal
+arrangements. There is to be nothing ascetic; there's just to be a
+certain little sense of sequestration. She'll have time to think, and
+there's something I want her to think about." Osmond spoke deliberately,
+reasonably, still with his head on one side, as if he were looking at
+the basket of flowers. His tone, however, was that of a man not so
+much offering an explanation as putting a thing into words--almost into
+pictures--to see, himself, how it would look. He considered a while the
+picture he had evoked and seemed greatly pleased with it. And then he
+went on: "The Catholics are very wise after all. The convent is a great
+institution; we can't do without it; it corresponds to an essential need
+in families, in society. It's a school of good manners; it's a school
+of repose. Oh, I don't want to detach my daughter from the world," he
+added; "I don't want to make her fix her thoughts on any other. This
+one's very well, as SHE should take it, and she may think of it as much
+as she likes. Only she must think of it in the right way."
+
+Isabel gave an extreme attention to this little sketch; she found
+it indeed intensely interesting. It seemed to show her how far her
+husband's desire to be effective was capable of going--to the point of
+playing theoretic tricks on the delicate organism of his daughter. She
+could not understand his purpose, no--not wholly; but she understood it
+better than he supposed or desired, inasmuch as she was convinced
+that the whole proceeding was an elaborate mystification, addressed to
+herself and destined to act upon her imagination. He had wanted to do
+something sudden and arbitrary, something unexpected and refined; to
+mark the difference between his sympathies and her own, and show that
+if he regarded his daughter as a precious work of art it was natural
+he should be more and more careful about the finishing touches. If he
+wished to be effective he had succeeded; the incident struck a chill
+into Isabel's heart. Pansy had known the convent in her childhood and
+had found a happy home there; she was fond of the good sisters, who were
+very fond of her, and there was therefore for the moment no definite
+hardship in her lot. But all the same the girl had taken fright; the
+impression her father desired to make would evidently be sharp enough.
+The old Protestant tradition had never faded from Isabel's imagination,
+and as her thoughts attached themselves to this striking example of
+her husband's genius--she sat looking, like him, at the basket of
+flowers--poor little Pansy became the heroine of a tragedy. Osmond
+wished it to be known that he shrank from nothing, and his wife found it
+hard to pretend to eat her dinner. There was a certain relief presently,
+in hearing the high, strained voice of her sister-in-law. The Countess
+too, apparently, had been thinking the thing out, but had arrived at a
+different conclusion from Isabel.
+
+"It's very absurd, my dear Osmond," she said, "to invent so many pretty
+reasons for poor Pansy's banishment. Why don't you say at once that you
+want to get her out of my way? Haven't you discovered that I think very
+well of Mr. Rosier? I do indeed; he seems to me simpaticissimo. He has
+made me believe in true love; I never did before! Of course you've
+made up your mind that with those convictions I'm dreadful company for
+Pansy."
+
+Osmond took a sip of a glass of wine; he looked perfectly good-humoured.
+"My dear Amy," he answered, smiling as if he were uttering a piece
+of gallantry, "I don't know anything about your convictions, but if
+I suspected that they interfere with mine it would be much simpler to
+banish YOU."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LI
+
+The Countess was not banished, but she felt the insecurity of her tenure
+of her brother's hospitality. A week after this incident Isabel received
+a telegram from England, dated from Gardencourt and bearing the stamp of
+Mrs. Touchett's authorship. "Ralph cannot last many days," it ran, "and
+if convenient would like to see you. Wishes me to say that you must come
+only if you've not other duties. Say, for myself, that you used to talk
+a good deal about your duty and to wonder what it was; shall be curious
+to see whether you've found it out. Ralph is really dying, and there's
+no other company." Isabel was prepared for this news, having received
+from Henrietta Stackpole a detailed account of her journey to England
+with her appreciative patient. Ralph had arrived more dead than alive,
+but she had managed to convey him to Gardencourt, where he had taken to
+his bed, which, as Miss Stackpole wrote, he evidently would never leave
+again. She added that she had really had two patients on her hands
+instead of one, inasmuch as Mr. Goodwood, who had been of no earthly
+use, was quite as ailing, in a different way, as Mr. Touchett.
+Afterwards she wrote that she had been obliged to surrender the field to
+Mrs. Touchett, who had just returned from America and had promptly given
+her to understand that she didn't wish any interviewing at Gardencourt.
+Isabel had written to her aunt shortly after Ralph came to Rome, letting
+her know of his critical condition and suggesting that she should
+lose no time in returning to Europe. Mrs. Touchett had telegraphed an
+acknowledgement of this admonition, and the only further news Isabel
+received from her was the second telegram I have just quoted.
+
+Isabel stood a moment looking at the latter missive; then, thrusting it
+into her pocket, she went straight to the door of her husband's study.
+Here she again paused an instant, after which she opened the door and
+went in. Osmond was seated at the table near the window with a folio
+volume before him, propped against a pile of books. This volume was open
+at a page of small coloured plates, and Isabel presently saw that he
+had been copying from it the drawing of an antique coin. A box of
+water-colours and fine brushes lay before him, and he had already
+transferred to a sheet of immaculate paper the delicate, finely-tinted
+disk. His back was turned toward the door, but he recognised his wife
+without looking round.
+
+"Excuse me for disturbing you," she said.
+
+"When I come to your room I always knock," he answered, going on with
+his work.
+
+"I forgot; I had something else to think of. My cousin's dying."
+
+"Ah, I don't believe that," said Osmond, looking at his drawing through
+a magnifying glass. "He was dying when we married; he'll outlive us
+all."
+
+Isabel gave herself no time, no thought, to appreciate the careful
+cynicism of this declaration; she simply went on quickly, full of
+her own intention "My aunt has telegraphed for me; I must go to
+Gardencourt."
+
+"Why must you go to Gardencourt?" Osmond asked in the tone of impartial
+curiosity.
+
+"To see Ralph before he dies."
+
+To this, for some time, he made no rejoinder; he continued to give his
+chief attention to his work, which was of a sort that would brook no
+negligence. "I don't see the need of it," he said at last. "He came to
+see you here. I didn't like that; I thought his being in Rome a great
+mistake. But I tolerated it because it was to be the last time you
+should see him. Now you tell me it's not to have been the last. Ah,
+you're not grateful!"
+
+"What am I to be grateful for?"
+
+Gilbert Osmond laid down his little implements, blew a speck of dust
+from his drawing, slowly got up, and for the first time looked at his
+wife. "For my not having interfered while he was here."
+
+"Oh yes, I am. I remember perfectly how distinctly you let me know you
+didn't like it. I was very glad when he went away."
+
+"Leave him alone then. Don't run after him."
+
+Isabel turned her eyes away from him; they rested upon his little
+drawing. "I must go to England," she said, with a full consciousness
+that her tone might strike an irritable man of taste as stupidly
+obstinate.
+
+"I shall not like it if you do," Osmond remarked.
+
+"Why should I mind that? You won't like it if I don't. You like nothing
+I do or don't do. You pretend to think I lie."
+
+Osmond turned slightly pale; he gave a cold smile. "That's why you must
+go then? Not to see your cousin, but to take a revenge on me."
+
+"I know nothing about revenge."
+
+"I do," said Osmond. "Don't give me an occasion."
+
+"You're only too eager to take one. You wish immensely that I would
+commit some folly."
+
+"I should be gratified in that case if you disobeyed me."
+
+"If I disobeyed you?" said Isabel in a low tone which had the effect of
+mildness.
+
+"Let it be clear. If you leave Rome to-day it will be a piece of the
+most deliberate, the most calculated, opposition."
+
+"How can you call it calculated? I received my aunt's telegram but three
+minutes ago."
+
+"You calculate rapidly; it's a great accomplishment. I don't see why we
+should prolong our discussion; you know my wish." And he stood there as
+if he expected to see her withdraw.
+
+But she never moved; she couldn't move, strange as it may seem; she
+still wished to justify herself; he had the power, in an extraordinary
+degree, of making her feel this need. There was something in her
+imagination he could always appeal to against her judgement. "You've no
+reason for such a wish," said Isabel, "and I've every reason for going.
+I can't tell you how unjust you seem to me. But I think you know. It's
+your own opposition that's calculated. It's malignant."
+
+She had never uttered her worst thought to her husband before, and the
+sensation of hearing it was evidently new to Osmond. But he showed no
+surprise, and his coolness was apparently a proof that he had believed
+his wife would in fact be unable to resist for ever his ingenious
+endeavour to draw her out. "It's all the more intense then," he
+answered. And he added almost as if he were giving her a friendly
+counsel: "This is a very important matter." She recognised that; she
+was fully conscious of the weight of the occasion; she knew that between
+them they had arrived at a crisis. Its gravity made her careful; she
+said nothing, and he went on. "You say I've no reason? I have the very
+best. I dislike, from the bottom of my soul, what you intend to do. It's
+dishonourable; it's indelicate; it's indecent. Your cousin is nothing
+whatever to me, and I'm under no obligation to make concessions to him.
+I've already made the very handsomest. Your relations with him, while he
+was here, kept me on pins and needles; but I let that pass, because from
+week to week I expected him to go. I've never liked him and he has never
+liked me. That's why you like him--because he hates me," said Osmond
+with a quick, barely audible tremor in his voice. "I've an ideal of what
+my wife should do and should not do. She should not travel across Europe
+alone, in defiance of my deepest desire, to sit at the bedside of other
+men. Your cousin's nothing to you; he's nothing to us. You smile most
+expressively when I talk about US, but I assure you that WE, WE, Mrs.
+Osmond, is all I know. I take our marriage seriously; you appear to
+have found a way of not doing so. I'm not aware that we're divorced or
+separated; for me we're indissolubly united. You are nearer to me than
+any human creature, and I'm nearer to you. It may be a disagreeable
+proximity; it's one, at any rate, of our own deliberate making. You
+don't like to be reminded of that, I know; but I'm perfectly willing,
+because--because--" And he paused a moment, looking as if he had
+something to say which would be very much to the point. "Because I think
+we should accept the consequences of our actions, and what I value most
+in life is the honour of a thing!"
+
+He spoke gravely and almost gently; the accent of sarcasm had dropped
+out of his tone. It had a gravity which checked his wife's quick
+emotion; the resolution with which she had entered the room found itself
+caught in a mesh of fine threads. His last words were not a command,
+they constituted a kind of appeal; and, though she felt that any
+expression of respect on his part could only be a refinement of egotism,
+they represented something transcendent and absolute, like the sign
+of the cross or the flag of one's country. He spoke in the name of
+something sacred and precious--the observance of a magnificent form.
+They were as perfectly apart in feeling as two disillusioned lovers
+had ever been; but they had never yet separated in act. Isabel had not
+changed; her old passion for justice still abode within her; and now, in
+the very thick of her sense of her husband's blasphemous sophistry, it
+began to throb to a tune which for a moment promised him the victory. It
+came over her that in his wish to preserve appearances he was after
+all sincere, and that this, as far as it went, was a merit. Ten minutes
+before she had felt all the joy of irreflective action--a joy to which
+she had so long been a stranger; but action had been suddenly changed to
+slow renunciation, transformed by the blight of Osmond's touch. If she
+must renounce, however, she would let him know she was a victim rather
+than a dupe. "I know you're a master of the art of mockery," she said.
+"How can you speak of an indissoluble union--how can you speak of
+your being contented? Where's our union when you accuse me of falsity?
+Where's your contentment when you have nothing but hideous suspicion in
+your heart?"
+
+"It is in our living decently together, in spite of such drawbacks."
+
+"We don't live decently together!" cried Isabel.
+
+"Indeed we don't if you go to England."
+
+"That's very little; that's nothing. I might do much more."
+
+He raised his eyebrows and even his shoulders a little: he had lived
+long enough in Italy to catch this trick. "Ah, if you've come to
+threaten me I prefer my drawing." And he walked back to his table, where
+he took up the sheet of paper on which he had been working and stood
+studying it.
+
+"I suppose that if I go you'll not expect me to come back," said Isabel.
+
+He turned quickly round, and she could see this movement at least was
+not designed. He looked at her a little, and then, "Are you out of your
+mind?" he enquired.
+
+"How can it be anything but a rupture?" she went on; "especially if all
+you say is true?" She was unable to see how it could be anything but a
+rupture; she sincerely wished to know what else it might be.
+
+He sat down before his table. "I really can't argue with you on the
+hypothesis of your defying me," he said. And he took up one of his
+little brushes again.
+
+She lingered but a moment longer; long enough to embrace with her eye
+his whole deliberately indifferent yet most expressive figure; after
+which she quickly left the room. Her faculties, her energy, her passion,
+were all dispersed again; she felt as if a cold, dark mist had suddenly
+encompassed her. Osmond possessed in a supreme degree the art of
+eliciting any weakness. On her way back to her room she found the
+Countess Gemini standing in the open doorway of a little parlour in
+which a small collection of heterogeneous books had been arranged.
+The Countess had an open volume in her hand; she appeared to have been
+glancing down a page which failed to strike her as interesting. At the
+sound of Isabel's step she raised her head.
+
+"Ah my dear," she said, "you, who are so literary, do tell me some
+amusing book to read! Everything here's of a dreariness--! Do you think
+this would do me any good?"
+
+Isabel glanced at the title of the volume she held out, but without
+reading or understanding it. "I'm afraid I can't advise you. I've had
+bad news. My cousin, Ralph Touchett, is dying."
+
+The Countess threw down her book. "Ah, he was so simpatico. I'm awfully
+sorry for you."
+
+"You would be sorrier still if you knew."
+
+"What is there to know? You look very badly," the Countess added. "You
+must have been with Osmond."
+
+Half an hour before Isabel would have listened very coldly to an
+intimation that she should ever feel a desire for the sympathy of
+her sister-in-law, and there can be no better proof of her present
+embarrassment than the fact that she almost clutched at this lady's
+fluttering attention. "I've been with Osmond," she said, while the
+Countess's bright eyes glittered at her.
+
+"I'm sure then he has been odious!" the Countess cried. "Did he say he
+was glad poor Mr. Touchett's dying?"
+
+"He said it's impossible I should go to England."
+
+The Countess's mind, when her interests were concerned, was agile; she
+already foresaw the extinction of any further brightness in her visit to
+Rome. Ralph Touchett would die, Isabel would go into mourning, and then
+there would be no more dinner-parties. Such a prospect produced for
+a moment in her countenance an expressive grimace; but this rapid,
+picturesque play of feature was her only tribute to disappointment.
+After all, she reflected, the game was almost played out; she had
+already overstayed her invitation. And then she cared enough for
+Isabel's trouble to forget her own, and she saw that Isabel's trouble
+was deep.
+
+It seemed deeper than the mere death of a cousin, and the Countess had
+no hesitation in connecting her exasperating brother with the expression
+of her sister-in-law's eyes. Her heart beat with an almost joyous
+expectation, for if she had wished to see Osmond overtopped the
+conditions looked favourable now. Of course if Isabel should go to
+England she herself would immediately leave Palazzo Roccanera; nothing
+would induce her to remain there with Osmond. Nevertheless she felt
+an immense desire to hear that Isabel would go to England. "Nothing's
+impossible for you, my dear," she said caressingly. "Why else are you
+rich and clever and good?"
+
+"Why indeed? I feel stupidly weak."
+
+"Why does Osmond say it's impossible?" the Countess asked in a tone
+which sufficiently declared that she couldn't imagine.
+
+From the moment she thus began to question her, however, Isabel drew
+back; she disengaged her hand, which the Countess had affectionately
+taken. But she answered this enquiry with frank bitterness. "Because
+we're so happy together that we can't separate even for a fortnight."
+
+"Ah," cried the Countess while Isabel turned away, "when I want to make
+a journey my husband simply tells me I can have no money!"
+
+Isabel went to her room, where she walked up and down for an hour. It
+may appear to some readers that she gave herself much trouble, and it is
+certain that for a woman of a high spirit she had allowed herself easily
+to be arrested. It seemed to her that only now she fully measured the
+great undertaking of matrimony. Marriage meant that in such a case as
+this, when one had to choose, one chose as a matter of course for one's
+husband. "I'm afraid--yes, I'm afraid," she said to herself more than
+once, stopping short in her walk. But what she was afraid of was not her
+husband--his displeasure, his hatred, his revenge; it was not even her
+own later judgement of her conduct a consideration which had often held
+her in check; it was simply the violence there would be in going when
+Osmond wished her to remain. A gulf of difference had opened between
+them, but nevertheless it was his desire that she should stay, it was
+a horror to him that she should go. She knew the nervous fineness with
+which he could feel an objection. What he thought of her she knew, what
+he was capable of saying to her she had felt; yet they were married, for
+all that, and marriage meant that a woman should cleave to the man with
+whom, uttering tremendous vows, she had stood at the altar. She sank
+down on her sofa at last and buried her head in a pile of cushions.
+
+When she raised her head again the Countess Gemini hovered before her.
+She had come in all unperceived; she had a strange smile on her thin
+lips and her whole face had grown in an hour a shining intimation. She
+lived assuredly, it might be said, at the window of her spirit, but now
+she was leaning far out. "I knocked," she began, "but you didn't
+answer me. So I ventured in. I've been looking at you for the past five
+minutes. You're very unhappy."
+
+"Yes; but I don't think you can comfort me."
+
+"Will you give me leave to try?" And the Countess sat down on the
+sofa beside her. She continued to smile, and there was something
+communicative and exultant in her expression. She appeared to have
+a deal to say, and it occurred to Isabel for the first time that her
+sister-in-law might say something really human. She made play with her
+glittering eyes, in which there was an unpleasant fascination. "After
+all," she soon resumed, "I must tell you, to begin with, that I don't
+understand your state of mind. You seem to have so many scruples, so
+many reasons, so many ties. When I discovered, ten years ago, that my
+husband's dearest wish was to make me miserable--of late he has simply
+let me alone--ah, it was a wonderful simplification! My poor Isabel,
+you're not simple enough."
+
+"No, I'm not simple enough," said Isabel.
+
+"There's something I want you to know," the Countess declared--"because
+I think you ought to know it. Perhaps you do; perhaps you've guessed it.
+But if you have, all I can say is that I understand still less why you
+shouldn't do as you like."
+
+"What do you wish me to know?" Isabel felt a foreboding that made her
+heart beat faster. The Countess was about to justify herself, and this
+alone was portentous.
+
+But she was nevertheless disposed to play a little with her subject.
+"In your place I should have guessed it ages ago. Have you never really
+suspected?"
+
+"I've guessed nothing. What should I have suspected? I don't know what
+you mean."
+
+"That's because you've such a beastly pure mind. I never saw a woman
+with such a pure mind!" cried the Countess.
+
+Isabel slowly got up. "You're going to tell me something horrible."
+
+"You can call it by whatever name you will!" And the Countess rose
+also, while her gathered perversity grew vivid and dreadful. She stood
+a moment in a sort of glare of intention and, as seemed to Isabel even
+then, of ugliness; after which she said: "My first sister-in-law had no
+children."
+
+Isabel stared back at her; the announcement was an anticlimax. "Your
+first sister-in-law?"
+
+"I suppose you know at least, if one may mention it, that Osmond has
+been married before! I've never spoken to you of his wife; I thought it
+mightn't be decent or respectful. But others, less particular, must
+have done so. The poor little woman lived hardly three years and died
+childless. It wasn't till after her death that Pansy arrived."
+
+Isabel's brow had contracted to a frown; her lips were parted in pale,
+vague wonder. She was trying to follow; there seemed so much more to
+follow than she could see. "Pansy's not my husband's child then?"
+
+"Your husband's--in perfection! But no one else's husband's. Some one
+else's wife's. Ah, my good Isabel," cried the Countess, "with you one
+must dot one's i's!"
+
+"I don't understand. Whose wife's?" Isabel asked.
+
+"The wife of a horrid little Swiss who died--how long?--a dozen, more
+than fifteen, years ago. He never recognised Miss Pansy, nor, knowing
+what he was about, would have anything to say to her; and there was no
+reason why he should. Osmond did, and that was better; though he had to
+fit on afterwards the whole rigmarole of his own wife's having died in
+childbirth, and of his having, in grief and horror, banished the little
+girl from his sight for as long as possible before taking her home from
+nurse. His wife had really died, you know, of quite another matter and
+in quite another place: in the Piedmontese mountains, where they had
+gone, one August, because her health appeared to require the air, but
+where she was suddenly taken worse--fatally ill. The story passed,
+sufficiently; it was covered by the appearances so long as nobody
+heeded, as nobody cared to look into it. But of course I knew--without
+researches," the Countess lucidly proceeded; "as also, you'll
+understand, without a word said between us--I mean between Osmond and
+me. Don't you see him looking at me, in silence, that way, to settle
+it?--that is to settle ME if I should say anything. I said nothing,
+right or left--never a word to a creature, if you can believe that of
+me: on my honour, my dear, I speak of the thing to you now, after all
+this time, as I've never, never spoken. It was to be enough for me,
+from the first, that the child was my niece--from the moment she was
+my brother's daughter. As for her veritable mother--!" But with this
+Pansy's wonderful aunt dropped--as, involuntarily, from the impression
+of her sister-in-law's face, out of which more eyes might have seemed to
+look at her than she had ever had to meet.
+
+She had spoken no name, yet Isabel could but check, on her own lips, an
+echo of the unspoken. She sank to her seat again, hanging her head.
+"Why have you told me this?" she asked in a voice the Countess hardly
+recognised.
+
+"Because I've been so bored with your not knowing. I've been bored,
+frankly, my dear, with not having told you; as if, stupidly, all this
+time I couldn't have managed! Ca me depasse, if you don't mind my saying
+so, the things, all round you, that you've appeared to succeed in not
+knowing. It's a sort of assistance--aid to innocent ignorance--that
+I've always been a bad hand at rendering; and in this connexion, that
+of keeping quiet for my brother, my virtue has at any rate finally
+found itself exhausted. It's not a black lie, moreover, you know," the
+Countess inimitably added. "The facts are exactly what I tell you."
+
+"I had no idea," said Isabel presently; and looked up at her in a manner
+that doubtless matched the apparent witlessness of this confession.
+
+"So I believed--though it was hard to believe. Had it never occurred to
+you that he was for six or seven years her lover?"
+
+"I don't know. Things HAVE occurred to me, and perhaps that was what
+they all meant."
+
+"She has been wonderfully clever, she has been magnificent, about
+Pansy!" the Countess, before all this view of it, cried.
+
+"Oh, no idea, for me," Isabel went on, "ever DEFINITELY took that form."
+She appeared to be making out to herself what had been and what hadn't.
+"And as it is--I don't understand."
+
+She spoke as one troubled and puzzled, yet the poor Countess seemed to
+have seen her revelation fall below its possibilities of effect. She
+had expected to kindle some responsive blaze, but had barely extracted a
+spark. Isabel showed as scarce more impressed than she might have
+been, as a young woman of approved imagination, with some fine sinister
+passage of public history. "Don't you recognise how the child could
+never pass for HER husband's?--that is with M. Merle himself," her
+companion resumed. "They had been separated too long for that, and he
+had gone to some far country--I think to South America. If she had ever
+had children--which I'm not sure of--she had lost them. The conditions
+happened to make it workable, under stress (I mean at so awkward a
+pinch), that Osmond should acknowledge the little girl. His wife was
+dead--very true; but she had not been dead too long to put a certain
+accommodation of dates out of the question--from the moment, I mean,
+that suspicion wasn't started; which was what they had to take care of.
+What was more natural than that poor Mrs. Osmond, at a distance and
+for a world not troubling about trifles, should have left behind her,
+poverina, the pledge of her brief happiness that had cost her her life?
+With the aid of a change of residence--Osmond had been living with her
+at Naples at the time of their stay in the Alps, and he in due course
+left it for ever--the whole history was successfully set going. My poor
+sister-in-law, in her grave, couldn't help herself, and the real mother,
+to save HER skin, renounced all visible property in the child."
+
+"Ah, poor, poor woman!" cried Isabel, who herewith burst into tears. It
+was a long time since she had shed any; she had suffered a high reaction
+from weeping. But now they flowed with an abundance in which the
+Countess Gemini found only another discomfiture.
+
+"It's very kind of you to pity her!" she discordantly laughed. "Yes
+indeed, you have a way of your own--!"
+
+"He must have been false to his wife--and so very soon!" said Isabel
+with a sudden check.
+
+"That's all that's wanting--that you should take up her cause!" the
+Countess went on. "I quite agree with you, however, that it was much too
+soon."
+
+"But to me, to me--?" And Isabel hesitated as if she had not heard; as
+if her question--though it was sufficiently there in her eyes--were all
+for herself.
+
+"To you he has been faithful? Well, it depends, my dear, on what you
+call faithful. When he married you he was no longer the lover of another
+woman--SUCH a lover as he had been, cara mia, between their risks and
+their precautions, while the thing lasted! That state of affairs had
+passed away; the lady had repented, or at all events, for reasons of her
+own, drawn back: she had always had, too, a worship of appearances
+so intense that even Osmond himself had got bored with it. You may
+therefore imagine what it was--when he couldn't patch it on conveniently
+to ANY of those he goes in for! But the whole past was between them."
+
+"Yes," Isabel mechanically echoed, "the whole past is between them."
+
+"Ah, this later past is nothing. But for six or seven years, as I say,
+they had kept it up."
+
+She was silent a little. "Why then did she want him to marry me?"
+
+"Ah my dear, that's her superiority! Because you had money; and because
+she believed you would be good to Pansy."
+
+"Poor woman--and Pansy who doesn't like her!" cried Isabel.
+
+"That's the reason she wanted some one whom Pansy would like. She knows
+it; she knows everything."
+
+"Will she know that you've told me this?"
+
+"That will depend upon whether you tell her. She's prepared for it, and
+do you know what she counts upon for her defence? On your believing that
+I lie. Perhaps you do; don't make yourself uncomfortable to hide it.
+Only, as it happens this time, I don't. I've told plenty of little
+idiotic fibs, but they've never hurt any one but myself."
+
+Isabel sat staring at her companion's story as at a bale of fantastic
+wares some strolling gypsy might have unpacked on the carpet at her
+feet. "Why did Osmond never marry her?" she finally asked.
+
+"Because she had no money." The Countess had an answer for everything,
+and if she lied she lied well. "No one knows, no one has ever known,
+what she lives on, or how she has got all those beautiful things. I
+don't believe Osmond himself knows. Besides, she wouldn't have married
+him."
+
+"How can she have loved him then?"
+
+"She doesn't love him in that way. She did at first, and then, I
+suppose, she would have married him; but at that time her husband was
+living. By the time M. Merle had rejoined--I won't say his ancestors,
+because he never had any--her relations with Osmond had changed, and she
+had grown more ambitious. Besides, she has never had, about him,"
+the Countess went on, leaving Isabel to wince for it so tragically
+afterwards--"she HAD never had, what you might call any illusions of
+INTELLIGENCE. She hoped she might marry a great man; that has always
+been her idea. She has waited and watched and plotted and prayed; but
+she has never succeeded. I don't call Madame Merle a success, you know.
+I don't know what she may accomplish yet, but at present she has very
+little to show. The only tangible result she has ever achieved--except,
+of course, getting to know every one and staying with them free of
+expense--has been her bringing you and Osmond together. Oh, she did
+that, my dear; you needn't look as if you doubted it. I've watched
+them for years; I know everything--everything. I'm thought a great
+scatterbrain, but I've had enough application of mind to follow up those
+two. She hates me, and her way of showing it is to pretend to be for
+ever defending me. When people say I've had fifteen lovers she looks
+horrified and declares that quite half of them were never proved. She
+has been afraid of me for years, and she has taken great comfort in the
+vile, false things people have said about me. She has been afraid I'd
+expose her, and she threatened me one day when Osmond began to pay his
+court to you. It was at his house in Florence; do you remember that
+afternoon when she brought you there and we had tea in the garden? She
+let me know then that if I should tell tales two could play at that
+game. She pretends there's a good deal more to tell about me than about
+her. It would be an interesting comparison! I don't care a fig what she
+may say, simply because I know YOU don't care a fig. You can't trouble
+your head about me less than you do already. So she may take her revenge
+as she chooses; I don't think she'll frighten you very much. Her great
+idea has been to be tremendously irreproachable--a kind of full-blown
+lily--the incarnation of propriety. She has always worshipped that god.
+There should be no scandal about Caesar's wife, you know; and, as I say,
+she has always hoped to marry Caesar. That was one reason she wouldn't
+marry Osmond; the fear that on seeing her with Pansy people would put
+things together--would even see a resemblance. She has had a terror
+lest the mother should betray herself. She has been awfully careful; the
+mother has never done so."
+
+"Yes, yes, the mother has done so," said Isabel, who had listened to
+all this with a face more and more wan. "She betrayed herself to me the
+other day, though I didn't recognise her. There appeared to have been a
+chance of Pansy's making a great marriage, and in her disappointment at
+its not coming off she almost dropped the mask."
+
+"Ah, that's where she'd dish herself!" cried the Countess. "She has
+failed so dreadfully that she's determined her daughter shall make it
+up."
+
+Isabel started at the words "her daughter," which her guest threw off
+so familiarly. "It seems very wonderful," she murmured; and in this
+bewildering impression she had almost lost her sense of being personally
+touched by the story.
+
+"Now don't go and turn against the poor innocent child!" the Countess
+went on. "She's very nice, in spite of her deplorable origin. I myself
+have liked Pansy; not, naturally, because she was hers, but because she
+had become yours."
+
+"Yes, she has become mine. And how the poor woman must have suffered at
+seeing me--!" Isabel exclaimed while she flushed at the thought.
+
+"I don't believe she has suffered; on the contrary, she has enjoyed.
+Osmond's marriage has given his daughter a great little lift. Before
+that she lived in a hole. And do you know what the mother thought? That
+you might take such a fancy to the child that you'd do something for
+her. Osmond of course could never give her a portion. Osmond was really
+extremely poor; but of course you know all about that. Ah, my dear,"
+cried the Countess, "why did you ever inherit money?" She stopped a
+moment as if she saw something singular in Isabel's face. "Don't tell
+me now that you'll give her a dot. You're capable of that, but I would
+refuse to believe it. Don't try to be too good. Be a little easy and
+natural and nasty; feel a little wicked, for the comfort of it, once in
+your life!"
+
+"It's very strange. I suppose I ought to know, but I'm sorry," Isabel
+said. "I'm much obliged to you."
+
+"Yes, you seem to be!" cried the Countess with a mocking laugh.
+"Perhaps you are--perhaps you're not. You don't take it as I should have
+thought."
+
+"How should I take it?" Isabel asked.
+
+"Well, I should say as a woman who has been made use of." Isabel made
+no answer to this; she only listened, and the Countess went on. "They've
+always been bound to each other; they remained so even after she broke
+off--or HE did. But he has always been more for her than she has been
+for him. When their little carnival was over they made a bargain that
+each should give the other complete liberty, but that each should also
+do everything possible to help the other on. You may ask me how I know
+such a thing as that. I know it by the way they've behaved. Now see how
+much better women are than men! She has found a wife for Osmond, but
+Osmond has never lifted a little finger for HER. She has worked for him,
+plotted for him, suffered for him; she has even more than once found
+money for him; and the end of it is that he's tired of her. She's an old
+habit; there are moments when he needs her, but on the whole he wouldn't
+miss her if she were removed. And, what's more, today she knows it. So
+you needn't be jealous!" the Countess added humorously.
+
+Isabel rose from her sofa again; she felt bruised and scant of breath;
+her head was humming with new knowledge. "I'm much obliged to you," she
+repeated. And then she added abruptly, in quite a different tone: "How
+do you know all this?"
+
+This enquiry appeared to ruffle the Countess more than Isabel's
+expression of gratitude pleased her. She gave her companion a bold
+stare, with which, "Let us assume that I've invented it!" she cried. She
+too, however, suddenly changed her tone and, laying her hand on Isabel's
+arm, said with the penetration of her sharp bright smile: "Now will you
+give up your journey?"
+
+Isabel started a little; she turned away. But she felt weak and in a
+moment had to lay her arm upon the mantel-shelf for support. She stood a
+minute so, and then upon her arm she dropped her dizzy head, with closed
+eyes and pale lips.
+
+"I've done wrong to speak--I've made you ill!" the Countess cried.
+
+"Ah, I must see Ralph!" Isabel wailed; not in resentment, not in
+the quick passion her companion had looked for; but in a tone of
+far-reaching, infinite sadness.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LII
+
+There was a train for Turin and Paris that evening; and after the
+Countess had left her Isabel had a rapid and decisive conference with
+her maid, who was discreet, devoted and active. After this she thought
+(except of her journey) only of one thing. She must go and see Pansy;
+from her she couldn't turn away. She had not seen her yet, as Osmond had
+given her to understand that it was too soon to begin. She drove at five
+o'clock to a high floor in a narrow street in the quarter of the Piazza
+Navona, and was admitted by the portress of the convent, a genial and
+obsequious person. Isabel had been at this institution before; she had
+come with Pansy to see the sisters. She knew they were good women,
+and she saw that the large rooms were clean and cheerful and that
+the well-used garden had sun for winter and shade for spring. But she
+disliked the place, which affronted and almost frightened her; not for
+the world would she have spent a night there. It produced to-day more
+than before the impression of a well-appointed prison; for it was not
+possible to pretend Pansy was free to leave it. This innocent creature
+had been presented to her in a new and violent light, but the secondary
+effect of the revelation was to make her reach out a hand.
+
+The portress left her to wait in the parlour of the convent while she
+went to make it known that there was a visitor for the dear young lady.
+The parlour was a vast, cold apartment, with new-looking furniture; a
+large clean stove of white porcelain, unlighted, a collection of wax
+flowers under glass, and a series of engravings from religious pictures
+on the walls. On the other occasion Isabel had thought it less like Rome
+than like Philadelphia, but to-day she made no reflexions; the apartment
+only seemed to her very empty and very soundless. The portress returned
+at the end of some five minutes, ushering in another person. Isabel got
+up, expecting to see one of the ladies of the sisterhood, but to her
+extreme surprise found herself confronted with Madame Merle. The effect
+was strange, for Madame Merle was already so present to her vision
+that her appearance in the flesh was like suddenly, and rather awfully,
+seeing a painted picture move. Isabel had been thinking all day of her
+falsity, her audacity, her ability, her probable suffering; and these
+dark things seemed to flash with a sudden light as she entered the
+room. Her being there at all had the character of ugly evidence, of
+handwritings, of profaned relics, of grim things produced in court. It
+made Isabel feel faint; if it had been necessary to speak on the spot
+she would have been quite unable. But no such necessity was distinct to
+her; it seemed to her indeed that she had absolutely nothing to say to
+Madame Merle. In one's relations with this lady, however, there were
+never any absolute necessities; she had a manner which carried off
+not only her own deficiencies but those of other people. But she was
+different from usual; she came in slowly, behind the portress, and
+Isabel instantly perceived that she was not likely to depend upon her
+habitual resources. For her too the occasion was exceptional, and she
+had undertaken to treat it by the light of the moment. This gave her a
+peculiar gravity; she pretended not even to smile, and though Isabel saw
+that she was more than ever playing a part it seemed to her that on the
+whole the wonderful woman had never been so natural. She looked at her
+young friend from head to foot, but not harshly nor defiantly; with a
+cold gentleness rather, and an absence of any air of allusion to their
+last meeting. It was as if she had wished to mark a distinction. She had
+been irritated then, she was reconciled now.
+
+"You can leave us alone," she said to the portress; "in five minutes
+this lady will ring for you." And then she turned to Isabel, who, after
+noting what has just been mentioned, had ceased to notice and had let
+her eyes wander as far as the limits of the room would allow. She wished
+never to look at Madame Merle again. "You're surprised to find me here,
+and I'm afraid you're not pleased," this lady went on. "You don't see
+why I should have come; it's as if I had anticipated you. I confess I've
+been rather indiscreet--I ought to have asked your permission." There
+was none of the oblique movement of irony in this; it was said simply
+and mildly; but Isabel, far afloat on a sea of wonder and pain, could
+not have told herself with what intention it was uttered. "But I've not
+been sitting long," Madame Merle continued; "that is I've not been long
+with Pansy. I came to see her because it occurred to me this afternoon
+that she must be rather lonely and perhaps even a little miserable.
+It may be good for a small girl; I know so little about small girls; I
+can't tell. At any rate it's a little dismal. Therefore I came--on the
+chance. I knew of course that you'd come, and her father as well;
+still, I had not been told other visitors were forbidden. The good
+woman--what's her name? Madame Catherine--made no objection whatever. I
+stayed twenty minutes with Pansy; she has a charming little room, not
+in the least conventual, with a piano and flowers. She has arranged
+it delightfully; she has so much taste. Of course it's all none of my
+business, but I feel happier since I've seen her. She may even have a
+maid if she likes; but of course she has no occasion to dress. She wears
+a little black frock; she looks so charming. I went afterwards to see
+Mother Catherine, who has a very good room too; I assure you I don't
+find the poor sisters at all monastic. Mother Catherine has a most
+coquettish little toilet-table, with something that looked uncommonly
+like a bottle of eau-de-Cologne. She speaks delightfully of Pansy; says
+it's a great happiness for them to have her. She's a little saint of
+heaven and a model to the oldest of them. Just as I was leaving Madame
+Catherine the portress came to say to her that there was a lady for the
+signorina. Of course I knew it must be you, and I asked her to let me
+go and receive you in her place. She demurred greatly--I must tell you
+that--and said it was her duty to notify the Mother Superior; it was
+of such high importance that you should be treated with respect. I
+requested her to let the Mother Superior alone and asked her how she
+supposed I would treat you!"
+
+So Madame Merle went on, with much of the brilliancy of a woman who had
+long been a mistress of the art of conversation. But there were phases
+and gradations in her speech, not one of which was lost upon Isabel's
+ear, though her eyes were absent from her companion's face. She had not
+proceeded far before Isabel noted a sudden break in her voice, a lapse
+in her continuity, which was in itself a complete drama. This subtle
+modulation marked a momentous discovery--the perception of an entirely
+new attitude on the part of her listener. Madame Merle had guessed in
+the space of an instant that everything was at end between them, and in
+the space of another instant she had guessed the reason why. The person
+who stood there was not the same one she had seen hitherto, but was a
+very different person--a person who knew her secret. This discovery was
+tremendous, and from the moment she made it the most accomplished of
+women faltered and lost her courage. But only for that moment. Then the
+conscious stream of her perfect manner gathered itself again and flowed
+on as smoothly as might be to the end. But it was only because she had
+the end in view that she was able to proceed. She had been touched with
+a point that made her quiver, and she needed all the alertness of her
+will to repress her agitation. Her only safety was in her not betraying
+herself. She resisted this, but the startled quality of her voice
+refused to improve--she couldn't help it--while she heard herself say
+she hardly knew what. The tide of her confidence ebbed, and she was able
+only just to glide into port, faintly grazing the bottom.
+
+Isabel saw it all as distinctly as if it had been reflected in a large
+clear glass. It might have been a great moment for her, for it might
+have been a moment of triumph. That Madame Merle had lost her pluck and
+saw before her the phantom of exposure--this in itself was a revenge,
+this in itself was almost the promise of a brighter day. And for a
+moment during which she stood apparently looking out of the window, with
+her back half-turned, Isabel enjoyed that knowledge. On the other side
+of the window lay the garden of the convent; but this is not what she
+saw; she saw nothing of the budding plants and the glowing afternoon.
+She saw, in the crude light of that revelation which had already become
+a part of experience and to which the very frailty of the vessel in
+which it had been offered her only gave an intrinsic price, the dry
+staring fact that she had been an applied handled hung-up tool,
+as senseless and convenient as mere shaped wood and iron. All the
+bitterness of this knowledge surged into her soul again; it was as if
+she felt on her lips the taste of dishonour. There was a moment during
+which, if she had turned and spoken, she would have said something that
+would hiss like a lash. But she closed her eyes, and then the hideous
+vision dropped. What remained was the cleverest woman in the world
+standing there within a few feet of her and knowing as little what to
+think as the meanest. Isabel's only revenge was to be silent still--to
+leave Madame Merle in this unprecedented situation. She left her there
+for a period that must have seemed long to this lady, who at last
+seated herself with a movement which was in itself a confession of
+helplessness. Then Isabel turned slow eyes, looking down at her. Madame
+Merle was very pale; her own eyes covered Isabel's face. She might see
+what she would, but her danger was over. Isabel would never accuse
+her, never reproach her; perhaps because she never would give her the
+opportunity to defend herself.
+
+"I'm come to bid Pansy good-bye," our young woman said at last. "I go to
+England to-night."
+
+"Go to England to-night!" Madame Merle repeated sitting there and
+looking up at her.
+
+"I'm going to Gardencourt. Ralph Touchett's dying."
+
+"Ah, you'll feel that." Madame Merle recovered herself; she had a chance
+to express sympathy. "Do you go alone?"
+
+"Yes; without my husband."
+
+Madame Merle gave a low vague murmur; a sort of recognition of the
+general sadness of things. "Mr. Touchett never liked me, but I'm sorry
+he's dying. Shall you see his mother?"
+
+"Yes; she has returned from America."
+
+"She used to be very kind to me; but she has changed. Others too have
+changed," said Madame Merle with a quiet noble pathos. She paused a
+moment, then added: "And you'll see dear old Gardencourt again!"
+
+"I shall not enjoy it much," Isabel answered.
+
+"Naturally--in your grief. But it's on the whole, of all the houses I
+know, and I know many, the one I should have liked best to live in. I
+don't venture to send a message to the people," Madame Merle added; "but
+I should like to give my love to the place."
+
+Isabel turned away. "I had better go to Pansy. I've not much time."
+
+While she looked about her for the proper egress, the door opened and
+admitted one of the ladies of the house, who advanced with a discreet
+smile, gently rubbing, under her long loose sleeves, a pair of plump
+white hands. Isabel recognised Madame Catherine, whose acquaintance she
+had already made, and begged that she would immediately let her see Miss
+Osmond. Madame Catherine looked doubly discreet, but smiled very blandly
+and said: "It will be good for her to see you. I'll take you to her
+myself." Then she directed her pleased guarded vision to Madame Merle.
+
+"Will you let me remain a little?" this lady asked. "It's so good to be
+here."
+
+"You may remain always if you like!" And the good sister gave a knowing
+laugh.
+
+She led Isabel out of the room, through several corridors, and up a long
+staircase. All these departments were solid and bare, light and clean;
+so, thought Isabel, are the great penal establishments. Madame Catherine
+gently pushed open the door of Pansy's room and ushered in the visitor;
+then stood smiling with folded hands while the two others met and
+embraced.
+
+"She's glad to see you," she repeated; "it will do her good." And she
+placed the best chair carefully for Isabel. But she made no movement
+to seat herself; she seemed ready to retire. "How does this dear child
+look?" she asked of Isabel, lingering a moment.
+
+"She looks pale," Isabel answered.
+
+"That's the pleasure of seeing you. She's very happy. Elle eclaire la
+maison," said the good sister.
+
+Pansy wore, as Madame Merle had said, a little black dress; it was
+perhaps this that made her look pale. "They're very good to me--they
+think of everything!" she exclaimed with all her customary eagerness to
+accommodate.
+
+"We think of you always--you're a precious charge," Madame Catherine
+remarked in the tone of a woman with whom benevolence was a habit and
+whose conception of duty was the acceptance of every care. It fell with
+a leaden weight on Isabel's ears; it seemed to represent the surrender
+of a personality, the authority of the Church.
+
+When Madame Catherine had left them together Pansy kneeled down and hid
+her head in her stepmother's lap. So she remained some moments, while
+Isabel gently stroked her hair. Then she got up, averting her face and
+looking about the room. "Don't you think I've arranged it well? I've
+everything I have at home."
+
+"It's very pretty; you're very comfortable." Isabel scarcely knew what
+she could say to her. On the one hand she couldn't let her think she had
+come to pity her, and on the other it would be a dull mockery to pretend
+to rejoice with her. So she simply added after a moment: "I've come to
+bid you good-bye. I'm going to England."
+
+Pansy's white little face turned red. "To England! Not to come back?"
+
+"I don't know when I shall come back."
+
+"Ah, I'm sorry," Pansy breathed with faintness. She spoke as if she had
+no right to criticise; but her tone expressed a depth of disappointment.
+
+"My cousin, Mr. Touchett, is very ill; he'll probably die. I wish to see
+him," Isabel said.
+
+"Ah yes; you told me he would die. Of course you must go. And will papa
+go?"
+
+"No; I shall go alone."
+
+For a moment the girl said nothing. Isabel had often wondered what she
+thought of the apparent relations of her father with his wife; but never
+by a glance, by an intimation, had she let it be seen that she deemed
+them deficient in an air of intimacy. She made her reflexions, Isabel
+was sure; and she must have had a conviction that there were husbands
+and wives who were more intimate than that. But Pansy was not indiscreet
+even in thought; she would as little have ventured to judge her gentle
+stepmother as to criticise her magnificent father. Her heart may have
+stood almost as still as it would have done had she seen two of the
+saints in the great picture in the convent chapel turn their painted
+heads and shake them at each other. But as in this latter case she would
+(for very solemnity's sake) never have mentioned the awful phenomenon,
+so she put away all knowledge of the secrets of larger lives than her
+own. "You'll be very far away," she presently went on.
+
+"Yes; I shall be far away. But it will scarcely matter," Isabel
+explained; "since so long as you're here I can't be called near you."
+
+"Yes, but you can come and see me; though you've not come very often."
+
+"I've not come because your father forbade it. To-day I bring nothing
+with me. I can't amuse you."
+
+"I'm not to be amused. That's not what papa wishes."
+
+"Then it hardly matters whether I'm in Rome or in England."
+
+"You're not happy, Mrs. Osmond," said Pansy.
+
+"Not very. But it doesn't matter."
+
+"That's what I say to myself. What does it matter? But I should like to
+come out."
+
+"I wish indeed you might."
+
+"Don't leave me here," Pansy went on gently.
+
+Isabel said nothing for a minute; her heart beat fast. "Will you come
+away with me now?" she asked.
+
+Pansy looked at her pleadingly. "Did papa tell you to bring me?"
+
+"No; it's my own proposal."
+
+"I think I had better wait then. Did papa send me no message?"
+
+"I don't think he knew I was coming."
+
+"He thinks I've not had enough," said Pansy. "But I have. The ladies are
+very kind to me and the little girls come to see me. There are some
+very little ones--such charming children. Then my room--you can see for
+yourself. All that's very delightful. But I've had enough. Papa wished
+me to think a little--and I've thought a great deal."
+
+"What have you thought?"
+
+"Well, that I must never displease papa."
+
+"You knew that before."
+
+"Yes; but I know it better. I'll do anything--I'll do anything," said
+Pansy. Then, as she heard her own words, a deep, pure blush came into
+her face. Isabel read the meaning of it; she saw the poor girl had been
+vanquished. It was well that Mr. Edward Rosier had kept his enamels!
+Isabel looked into her eyes and saw there mainly a prayer to be treated
+easily. She laid her hand on Pansy's as if to let her know that her
+look conveyed no diminution of esteem; for the collapse of the girl's
+momentary resistance (mute and modest thought it had been) seemed only
+her tribute to the truth of things. She didn't presume to judge others,
+but she had judged herself; she had seen the reality. She had no
+vocation for struggling with combinations; in the solemnity of
+sequestration there was something that overwhelmed her. She bowed her
+pretty head to authority and only asked of authority to be merciful.
+Yes; it was very well that Edward Rosier had reserved a few articles!
+
+Isabel got up; her time was rapidly shortening. "Good-bye then. I leave
+Rome to-night."
+
+Pansy took hold of her dress; there was a sudden change in the child's
+face. "You look strange, you frighten me."
+
+"Oh, I'm very harmless," said Isabel.
+
+"Perhaps you won't come back?"
+
+"Perhaps not. I can't tell."
+
+"Ah, Mrs. Osmond, you won't leave me!"
+
+Isabel now saw she had guessed everything. "My dear child, what can I do
+for you?" she asked.
+
+"I don't know--but I'm happier when I think of you."
+
+"You can always think of me."
+
+"Not when you're so far. I'm a little afraid," said Pansy.
+
+"What are you afraid of?"
+
+"Of papa--a little. And of Madame Merle. She has just been to see me."
+
+"You must not say that," Isabel observed.
+
+"Oh, I'll do everything they want. Only if you're here I shall do it
+more easily."
+
+Isabel considered. "I won't desert you," she said at last. "Good-bye, my
+child."
+
+Then they held each other a moment in a silent embrace, like two
+sisters; and afterwards Pansy walked along the corridor with her visitor
+to the top of the staircase. "Madame Merle has been here," she remarked
+as they went; and as Isabel answered nothing she added abruptly: "I
+don't like Madame Merle!"
+
+Isabel hesitated, then stopped. "You must never say that--that you don't
+like Madame Merle."
+
+Pansy looked at her in wonder; but wonder with Pansy had never been a
+reason for non-compliance. "I never will again," she said with exquisite
+gentleness. At the top of the staircase they had to separate, as it
+appeared to be part of the mild but very definite discipline under which
+Pansy lived that she should not go down. Isabel descended, and when she
+reached the bottom the girl was standing above. "You'll come back?" she
+called out in a voice that Isabel remembered afterwards.
+
+"Yes--I'll come back."
+
+Madame Catherine met Mrs. Osmond below and conducted her to the door of
+the parlour, outside of which the two stood talking a minute. "I won't
+go in," said the good sister. "Madame Merle's waiting for you."
+
+At this announcement Isabel stiffened; she was on the point of asking
+if there were no other egress from the convent. But a moment's reflexion
+assured her that she would do well not to betray to the worthy nun her
+desire to avoid Pansy's other friend. Her companion grasped her arm
+very gently and, fixing her a moment with wise, benevolent eyes, said
+in French and almost familiarly: "Eh bien, chere Madame, qu'en
+pensez-vous?"
+
+"About my step-daughter? Oh, it would take long to tell you."
+
+"We think it's enough," Madame Catherine distinctly observed. And she
+pushed open the door of the parlour.
+
+Madame Merle was sitting just as Isabel had left her, like a woman so
+absorbed in thought that she had not moved a little finger. As Madame
+Catherine closed the door she got up, and Isabel saw that she had been
+thinking to some purpose. She had recovered her balance; she was in full
+possession of her resources. "I found I wished to wait for you," she
+said urbanely. "But it's not to talk about Pansy."
+
+Isabel wondered what it could be to talk about, and in spite of Madame
+Merle's declaration she answered after a moment: "Madame Catherine says
+it's enough."
+
+"Yes; it also seems to me enough. I wanted to ask you another word about
+poor Mr. Touchett," Madame Merle added. "Have you reason to believe that
+he's really at his last?"
+
+"I've no information but a telegram. Unfortunately it only confirms a
+probability."
+
+"I'm going to ask you a strange question," said Madame Merle. "Are
+you very fond of your cousin?" And she gave a smile as strange as her
+utterance.
+
+"Yes, I'm very fond of him. But I don't understand you."
+
+She just hung fire. "It's rather hard to explain. Something has occurred
+to me which may not have occurred to you, and I give you the benefit
+of my idea. Your cousin did you once a great service. Have you never
+guessed it?"
+
+"He has done me many services."
+
+"Yes; but one was much above the rest. He made you a rich woman."
+
+"HE made me--?"
+
+Madame Merle appearing to see herself successful, she went on more
+triumphantly: "He imparted to you that extra lustre which was required
+to make you a brilliant match. At bottom it's him you've to thank." She
+stopped; there was something in Isabel's eyes.
+
+"I don't understand you. It was my uncle's money."
+
+"Yes; it was your uncle's money, but it was your cousin's idea. He
+brought his father over to it. Ah, my dear, the sum was large!"
+
+Isabel stood staring; she seemed to-day to live in a world illumined by
+lurid flashes. "I don't know why you say such things. I don't know what
+you know."
+
+"I know nothing but what I've guessed. But I've guessed that."
+
+Isabel went to the door and, when she had opened it, stood a moment
+with her hand on the latch. Then she said--it was her only revenge: "I
+believed it was you I had to thank!"
+
+Madame Merle dropped her eyes; she stood there in a kind of proud
+penance. "You're very unhappy, I know. But I'm more so."
+
+"Yes; I can believe that. I think I should like never to see you again."
+
+Madame Merle raised her eyes. "I shall go to America," she quietly
+remarked while Isabel passed out.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIII
+
+It was not with surprise, it was with a feeling which in other
+circumstances would have had much of the effect of joy, that as Isabel
+descended from the Paris Mail at Charing Cross she stepped into the
+arms, as it were--or at any rate into the hands--of Henrietta Stackpole.
+She had telegraphed to her friend from Turin, and though she had not
+definitely said to herself that Henrietta would meet her, she had felt
+her telegram would produce some helpful result. On her long journey from
+Rome her mind had been given up to vagueness; she was unable to question
+the future. She performed this journey with sightless eyes and took
+little pleasure in the countries she traversed, decked out though they
+were in the richest freshness of spring. Her thoughts followed their
+course through other countries--strange-looking, dimly-lighted, pathless
+lands, in which there was no change of seasons, but only, as it seemed,
+a perpetual dreariness of winter. She had plenty to think about; but
+it was neither reflexion nor conscious purpose that filled her mind.
+Disconnected visions passed through it, and sudden dull gleams of
+memory, of expectation. The past and the future came and went at their
+will, but she saw them only in fitful images, which rose and fell by a
+logic of their own. It was extraordinary the things she remembered. Now
+that she was in the secret, now that she knew something that so much
+concerned her and the eclipse of which had made life resemble an attempt
+to play whist with an imperfect pack of cards, the truth of things,
+their mutual relations, their meaning, and for the most part their
+horror, rose before her with a kind of architectural vastness. She
+remembered a thousand trifles; they started to life with the spontaneity
+of a shiver. She had thought them trifles at the time; now she saw that
+they had been weighted with lead. Yet even now they were trifles after
+all, for of what use was it to her to understand them? Nothing seemed of
+use to her to-day. All purpose, all intention, was suspended; all
+desire too save the single desire to reach her much-embracing refuge.
+Gardencourt had been her starting-point, and to those muffled chambers
+it was at least a temporary solution to return. She had gone forth in
+her strength; she would come back in her weakness, and if the place had
+been a rest to her before, it would be a sanctuary now. She envied Ralph
+his dying, for if one were thinking of rest that was the most perfect
+of all. To cease utterly, to give it all up and not know anything
+more--this idea was as sweet as the vision of a cool bath in a marble
+tank, in a darkened chamber, in a hot land.
+
+She had moments indeed in her journey from Rome which were almost as
+good as being dead. She sat in her corner, so motionless, so passive,
+simply with the sense of being carried, so detached from hope and
+regret, that she recalled to herself one of those Etruscan figures
+couched upon the receptacle of their ashes. There was nothing to regret
+now--that was all over. Not only the time of her folly, but the time of
+her repentance was far. The only thing to regret was that Madame Merle
+had been so--well, so unimaginable. Just here her intelligence dropped,
+from literal inability to say what it was that Madame Merle had been.
+Whatever it was it was for Madame Merle herself to regret it; and
+doubtless she would do so in America, where she had announced she was
+going. It concerned Isabel no more; she only had an impression that she
+should never again see Madame Merle. This impression carried her into
+the future, of which from time to time she had a mutilated glimpse. She
+saw herself, in the distant years, still in the attitude of a woman who
+had her life to live, and these intimations contradicted the spirit of
+the present hour. It might be desirable to get quite away, really away,
+further away than little grey-green England, but this privilege was
+evidently to be denied her. Deep in her soul--deeper than any appetite
+for renunciation--was the sense that life would be her business for a
+long time to come. And at moments there was something inspiring, almost
+enlivening, in the conviction. It was a proof of strength--it was a
+proof she should some day be happy again. It couldn't be she was to live
+only to suffer; she was still young, after all, and a great many things
+might happen to her yet. To live only to suffer--only to feel the injury
+of life repeated and enlarged--it seemed to her she was too valuable,
+too capable, for that. Then she wondered if it were vain and stupid
+to think so well of herself. When had it even been a guarantee to be
+valuable? Wasn't all history full of the destruction of precious things?
+Wasn't it much more probable that if one were fine one would suffer? It
+involved then perhaps an admission that one had a certain grossness; but
+Isabel recognised, as it passed before her eyes, the quick vague shadow
+of a long future. She should never escape; she should last to the end.
+Then the middle years wrapped her about again and the grey curtain of
+her indifference closed her in.
+
+Henrietta kissed her, as Henrietta usually kissed, as if she were afraid
+she should be caught doing it; and then Isabel stood there in the crowd,
+looking about her, looking for her servant. She asked nothing; she
+wished to wait. She had a sudden perception that she should be helped.
+She rejoiced Henrietta had come; there was something terrible in an
+arrival in London. The dusky, smoky, far-arching vault of the station,
+the strange, livid light, the dense, dark, pushing crowd, filled her
+with a nervous fear and made her put her arm into her friend's. She
+remembered she had once liked these things; they seemed part of a mighty
+spectacle in which there was something that touched her. She remembered
+how she walked away from Euston, in the winter dusk, in the crowded
+streets, five years before. She could not have done that to-day, and the
+incident came before her as the deed of another person.
+
+"It's too beautiful that you should have come," said Henrietta, looking
+at her as if she thought Isabel might be prepared to challenge the
+proposition. "If you hadn't--if you hadn't; well, I don't know,"
+remarked Miss Stackpole, hinting ominously at her powers of disapproval.
+
+Isabel looked about without seeing her maid. Her eyes rested on another
+figure, however, which she felt she had seen before; and in a moment
+she recognised the genial countenance of Mr. Bantling. He stood a little
+apart, and it was not in the power of the multitude that pressed about
+him to make him yield an inch of the ground he had taken--that of
+abstracting himself discreetly while the two ladies performed their
+embraces.
+
+"There's Mr. Bantling," said Isabel, gently, irrelevantly, scarcely
+caring much now whether she should find her maid or not.
+
+"Oh yes, he goes everywhere with me. Come here, Mr. Bantling!" Henrietta
+exclaimed. Whereupon the gallant bachelor advanced with a smile--a smile
+tempered, however, by the gravity of the occasion. "Isn't it lovely she
+has come?" Henrietta asked. "He knows all about it," she added; "we had
+quite a discussion. He said you wouldn't, I said you would."
+
+"I thought you always agreed," Isabel smiled in return. She felt she
+could smile now; she had seen in an instant, in Mr. Bantling's brave
+eyes, that he had good news for her. They seemed to say he wished her to
+remember he was an old friend of her cousin--that he understood, that
+it was all right. Isabel gave him her hand; she thought of him,
+extravagantly, as a beautiful blameless knight.
+
+"Oh, I always agree," said Mr. Bantling. "But she doesn't, you know."
+
+"Didn't I tell you that a maid was a nuisance?" Henrietta enquired.
+"Your young lady has probably remained at Calais."
+
+"I don't care," said Isabel, looking at Mr. Bantling, whom she had never
+found so interesting.
+
+"Stay with her while I go and see," Henrietta commanded, leaving the two
+for a moment together.
+
+They stood there at first in silence, and then Mr. Bantling asked Isabel
+how it had been on the Channel.
+
+"Very fine. No, I believe it was very rough," she said, to her
+companion's obvious surprise. After which she added: "You've been to
+Gardencourt, I know."
+
+"Now how do you know that?"
+
+"I can't tell you--except that you look like a person who has been to
+Gardencourt."
+
+"Do you think I look awfully sad? It's awfully sad there, you know."
+
+"I don't believe you ever look awfully sad. You look awfully kind,"
+said Isabel with a breadth that cost her no effort. It seemed to her she
+should never again feel a superficial embarrassment.
+
+Poor Mr. Bantling, however, was still in this inferior stage. He blushed
+a good deal and laughed, he assured her that he was often very blue,
+and that when he was blue he was awfully fierce. "You can ask Miss
+Stackpole, you know. I was at Gardencourt two days ago."
+
+"Did you see my cousin?"
+
+"Only for a little. But he had been seeing people; Warburton had been
+there the day before. Ralph was just the same as usual, except that he
+was in bed and that he looks tremendously ill and that he can't speak,"
+Mr. Bantling pursued. "He was awfully jolly and funny all the same. He
+was just as clever as ever. It's awfully wretched."
+
+Even in the crowded, noisy station this simple picture was vivid. "Was
+that late in the day?"
+
+"Yes; I went on purpose. We thought you'd like to know."
+
+"I'm greatly obliged to you. Can I go down tonight?"
+
+"Ah, I don't think SHE'LL let you go," said Mr. Bantling. "She wants you
+to stop with her. I made Touchett's man promise to telegraph me to-day,
+and I found the telegram an hour ago at my club. 'Quiet and easy,'
+that's what it says, and it's dated two o'clock. So you see you can wait
+till to-morrow. You must be awfully tired."
+
+"Yes, I'm awfully tired. And I thank you again."
+
+"Oh," said Mr. Bantling, "We were certain you would like the last news."
+On which Isabel vaguely noted that he and Henrietta seemed after all to
+agree. Miss Stackpole came back with Isabel's maid, whom she had caught
+in the act of proving her utility. This excellent person, instead of
+losing herself in the crowd, had simply attended to her mistress's
+luggage, so that the latter was now at liberty to leave the station.
+"You know you're not to think of going to the country to-night,"
+Henrietta remarked to her. "It doesn't matter whether there's a train
+or not. You're to come straight to me in Wimpole Street. There isn't a
+corner to be had in London, but I've got you one all the same. It isn't
+a Roman palace, but it will do for a night."
+
+"I'll do whatever you wish," Isabel said.
+
+"You'll come and answer a few questions; that's what I wish."
+
+"She doesn't say anything about dinner, does she, Mrs. Osmond?" Mr.
+Bantling enquired jocosely.
+
+Henrietta fixed him a moment with her speculative gaze. "I see you're
+in a great hurry to get your own. You'll be at the Paddington Station
+to-morrow morning at ten."
+
+"Don't come for my sake, Mr. Bantling," said Isabel.
+
+"He'll come for mine," Henrietta declared as she ushered her friend into
+a cab. And later, in a large dusky parlour in Wimpole Street--to do her
+justice there had been dinner enough--she asked those questions to which
+she had alluded at the station. "Did your husband make you a scene about
+your coming?" That was Miss Stackpole's first enquiry.
+
+"No; I can't say he made a scene."
+
+"He didn't object then?"
+
+"Yes, he objected very much. But it was not what you'd call a scene."
+
+"What was it then?"
+
+"It was a very quiet conversation."
+
+Henrietta for a moment regarded her guest. "It must have been hellish,"
+she then remarked. And Isabel didn't deny that it had been hellish. But
+she confined herself to answering Henrietta's questions, which was easy,
+as they were tolerably definite. For the present she offered her no
+new information. "Well," said Miss Stackpole at last, "I've only one
+criticism to make. I don't see why you promised little Miss Osmond to go
+back."
+
+"I'm not sure I myself see now," Isabel replied. "But I did then."
+
+"If you've forgotten your reason perhaps you won't return."
+
+Isabel waited a moment. "Perhaps I shall find another."
+
+"You'll certainly never find a good one."
+
+"In default of a better my having promised will do," Isabel suggested.
+
+"Yes; that's why I hate it."
+
+"Don't speak of it now. I've a little time. Coming away was a
+complication, but what will going back be?"
+
+"You must remember, after all, that he won't make you a scene!" said
+Henrietta with much intention.
+
+"He will, though," Isabel answered gravely. "It won't be the scene of a
+moment; it will be a scene of the rest of my life."
+
+For some minutes the two women sat and considered this remainder, and
+then Miss Stackpole, to change the subject, as Isabel had requested,
+announced abruptly: "I've been to stay with Lady Pensil!"
+
+"Ah, the invitation came at last!"
+
+"Yes; it took five years. But this time she wanted to see me."
+
+"Naturally enough."
+
+"It was more natural than I think you know," said Henrietta, who fixed
+her eyes on a distant point. And then she added, turning suddenly:
+"Isabel Archer, I beg your pardon. You don't know why? Because I
+criticised you, and yet I've gone further than you. Mr. Osmond, at
+least, was born on the other side!"
+
+It was a moment before Isabel grasped her meaning; this sense was so
+modestly, or at least so ingeniously, veiled. Isabel's mind was not
+possessed at present with the comicality of things; but she greeted with
+a quick laugh the image that her companion had raised. She immediately
+recovered herself, however, and with the right excess of intensity,
+"Henrietta Stackpole," she asked, "are you going to give up your
+country?"
+
+"Yes, my poor Isabel, I am. I won't pretend to deny it; I look the fact
+in the face. I'm going to marry Mr. Bantling and locate right here in
+London."
+
+"It seems very strange," said Isabel, smiling now.
+
+"Well yes, I suppose it does. I've come to it little by little. I think
+I know what I'm doing; but I don't know as I can explain."
+
+"One can't explain one's marriage," Isabel answered. "And yours doesn't
+need to be explained. Mr. Bantling isn't a riddle."
+
+"No, he isn't a bad pun--or even a high flight of American humour. He
+has a beautiful nature," Henrietta went on. "I've studied him for many
+years and I see right through him. He's as clear as the style of a good
+prospectus. He's not intellectual, but he appreciates intellect. On the
+other hand he doesn't exaggerate its claims. I sometimes think we do in
+the United States."
+
+"Ah," said Isabel, "you're changed indeed! It's the first time I've ever
+heard you say anything against your native land."
+
+"I only say that we're too infatuated with mere brain-power; that, after
+all, isn't a vulgar fault. But I AM changed; a woman has to change a
+good deal to marry."
+
+"I hope you'll be very happy. You will at last--over here--see something
+of the inner life."
+
+Henrietta gave a little significant sigh. "That's the key to the
+mystery, I believe. I couldn't endure to be kept off. Now I've as good
+a right as any one!" she added with artless elation. Isabel was duly
+diverted, but there was a certain melancholy in her view. Henrietta,
+after all, had confessed herself human and feminine, Henrietta whom she
+had hitherto regarded as a light keen flame, a disembodied voice. It was
+a disappointment to find she had personal susceptibilities, that she was
+subject to common passions, and that her intimacy with Mr. Bantling had
+not been completely original. There was a want of originality in her
+marrying him--there was even a kind of stupidity; and for a moment, to
+Isabel's sense, the dreariness of the world took on a deeper tinge. A
+little later indeed she reflected that Mr. Bantling himself at least was
+original. But she didn't see how Henrietta could give up her country.
+She herself had relaxed her hold of it, but it had never been her
+country as it had been Henrietta's. She presently asked her if she had
+enjoyed her visit to Lady Pensil.
+
+"Oh yes," said Henrietta, "she didn't know what to make of me."
+
+"And was that very enjoyable?"
+
+"Very much so, because she's supposed to be a master mind. She thinks
+she knows everything; but she doesn't understand a woman of my modern
+type. It would be so much easier for her if I were only a little better
+or a little worse. She's so puzzled; I believe she thinks it's my duty
+to go and do something immoral. She thinks it's immoral that I should
+marry her brother; but, after all, that isn't immoral enough. And she'll
+never understand my mixture--never!"
+
+"She's not so intelligent as her brother then," said Isabel. "He appears
+to have understood."
+
+"Oh no, he hasn't!" cried Miss Stackpole with decision. "I really
+believe that's what he wants to marry me for--just to find out the
+mystery and the proportions of it. That's a fixed idea--a kind of
+fascination."
+
+"It's very good in you to humour it."
+
+"Oh well," said Henrietta, "I've something to find out too!" And Isabel
+saw that she had not renounced an allegiance, but planned an attack. She
+was at last about to grapple in earnest with England.
+
+Isabel also perceived, however, on the morrow, at the Paddington
+Station, where she found herself, at ten o'clock, in the company both
+of Miss Stackpole and Mr. Bantling, that the gentleman bore his
+perplexities lightly. If he had not found out everything he had found
+out at least the great point--that Miss Stackpole would not be wanting
+in initiative. It was evident that in the selection of a wife he had
+been on his guard against this deficiency.
+
+"Henrietta has told me, and I'm very glad," Isabel said as she gave him
+her hand.
+
+"I dare say you think it awfully odd," Mr. Bantling replied, resting on
+his neat umbrella.
+
+"Yes, I think it awfully odd."
+
+"You can't think it so awfully odd as I do. But I've always rather liked
+striking out a line," said Mr. Bantling serenely.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIV
+
+Isabel's arrival at Gardencourt on this second occasion was even
+quieter than it had been on the first. Ralph Touchett kept but a small
+household, and to the new servants Mrs. Osmond was a stranger; so that
+instead of being conducted to her own apartment she was coldly shown
+into the drawing-room and left to wait while her name was carried up to
+her aunt. She waited a long time; Mrs. Touchett appeared in no hurry to
+come to her. She grew impatient at last; she grew nervous and scared--as
+scared as if the objects about her had begun to show for conscious
+things, watching her trouble with grotesque grimaces. The day was dark
+and cold; the dusk was thick in the corners of the wide brown rooms. The
+house was perfectly still--with a stillness that Isabel remembered; it
+had filled all the place for days before the death of her uncle. She
+left the drawing-room and wandered about--strolled into the library and
+along the gallery of pictures, where, in the deep silence, her footstep
+made an echo. Nothing was changed; she recognised everything she had
+seen years before; it might have been only yesterday she had stood
+there. She envied the security of valuable "pieces" which change by no
+hair's breadth, only grow in value, while their owners lose inch by
+inch youth, happiness, beauty; and she became aware that she was walking
+about as her aunt had done on the day she had come to see her in Albany.
+She was changed enough since then--that had been the beginning. It
+suddenly struck her that if her Aunt Lydia had not come that day in just
+that way and found her alone, everything might have been different. She
+might have had another life and she might have been a woman more blest.
+She stopped in the gallery in front of a small picture--a charming and
+precious Bonington--upon which her eyes rested a long time. But she was
+not looking at the picture; she was wondering whether if her aunt had
+not come that day in Albany she would have married Caspar Goodwood.
+
+Mrs. Touchett appeared at last, just after Isabel had returned to the
+big uninhabited drawing-room. She looked a good deal older, but her
+eye was as bright as ever and her head as erect; her thin lips seemed a
+repository of latent meanings. She wore a little grey dress of the most
+undecorated fashion, and Isabel wondered, as she had wondered the first
+time, if her remarkable kinswoman resembled more a queen-regent or the
+matron of a gaol. Her lips felt very thin indeed on Isabel's hot cheek.
+
+"I've kept you waiting because I've been sitting with Ralph," Mrs.
+Touchett said. "The nurse had gone to luncheon and I had taken her
+place. He has a man who's supposed to look after him, but the man's good
+for nothing; he's always looking out of the window--as if there were
+anything to see! I didn't wish to move, because Ralph seemed to be
+sleeping and I was afraid the sound would disturb him. I waited till the
+nurse came back. I remembered you knew the house."
+
+"I find I know it better even than I thought; I've been walking
+everywhere," Isabel answered. And then she asked if Ralph slept much.
+
+"He lies with his eyes closed; he doesn't move. But I'm not sure that
+it's always sleep."
+
+"Will he see me? Can he speak to me?"
+
+Mrs. Touchett declined the office of saying. "You can try him," was the
+limit of her extravagance. And then she offered to conduct Isabel to her
+room. "I thought they had taken you there; but it's not my house, it's
+Ralph's; and I don't know what they do. They must at least have taken
+your luggage; I don't suppose you've brought much. Not that I care,
+however. I believe they've given you the same room you had before; when
+Ralph heard you were coming he said you must have that one."
+
+"Did he say anything else?"
+
+"Ah, my dear, he doesn't chatter as he used!" cried Mrs. Touchett as she
+preceded her niece up the staircase.
+
+It was the same room, and something told Isabel it had not been slept
+in since she occupied it. Her luggage was there and was not voluminous;
+Mrs. Touchett sat down a moment with her eyes upon it. "Is there really
+no hope?" our young woman asked as she stood before her.
+
+"None whatever. There never has been. It has not been a successful
+life."
+
+"No--it has only been a beautiful one." Isabel found herself already
+contradicting her aunt; she was irritated by her dryness.
+
+"I don't know what you mean by that; there's no beauty without health.
+That is a very odd dress to travel in."
+
+Isabel glanced at her garment. "I left Rome at an hour's notice; I took
+the first that came."
+
+"Your sisters, in America, wished to know how you dress. That seemed to
+be their principal interest. I wasn't able to tell them--but they seemed
+to have the right idea: that you never wear anything less than black
+brocade."
+
+"They think I'm more brilliant than I am; I'm afraid to tell them the
+truth," said Isabel. "Lily wrote me you had dined with her."
+
+"She invited me four times, and I went once. After the second time she
+should have let me alone. The dinner was very good; it must have been
+expensive. Her husband has a very bad manner. Did I enjoy my visit to
+America? Why should I have enjoyed it? I didn't go for my pleasure."
+
+These were interesting items, but Mrs. Touchett soon left her niece,
+whom she was to meet in half an hour at the midday meal. For this
+repast the two ladies faced each other at an abbreviated table in the
+melancholy dining-room. Here, after a little, Isabel saw her aunt not
+to be so dry as she appeared, and her old pity for the poor woman's
+inexpressiveness, her want of regret, of disappointment, came back to
+her. Unmistakeably she would have found it a blessing to-day to be able
+to feel a defeat, a mistake, even a shame or two. She wondered if she
+were not even missing those enrichments of consciousness and privately
+trying--reaching out for some aftertaste of life, dregs of the banquet;
+the testimony of pain or the cold recreation of remorse. On the other
+hand perhaps she was afraid; if she should begin to know remorse at all
+it might take her too far. Isabel could perceive, however, how it had
+come over her dimly that she had failed of something, that she saw
+herself in the future as an old woman without memories. Her little
+sharp face looked tragical. She told her niece that Ralph had as yet not
+moved, but that he probably would be able to see her before dinner.
+And then in a moment she added that he had seen Lord Warburton the day
+before; an announcement which startled Isabel a little, as it seemed
+an intimation that this personage was in the neighbourhood and that an
+accident might bring them together. Such an accident would not be happy;
+she had not come to England to struggle again with Lord Warburton. She
+none the less presently said to her aunt that he had been very kind to
+Ralph; she had seen something of that in Rome.
+
+"He has something else to think of now," Mrs. Touchett returned. And she
+paused with a gaze like a gimlet.
+
+Isabel saw she meant something, and instantly guessed what she meant.
+But her reply concealed her guess; her heart beat faster and she wished
+to gain a moment. "Ah yes--the House of Lords and all that."
+
+"He's not thinking of the Lords; he's thinking of the ladies. At least
+he's thinking of one of them; he told Ralph he's engaged to be married."
+
+"Ah, to be married!" Isabel mildly exclaimed.
+
+"Unless he breaks it off. He seemed to think Ralph would like to know.
+Poor Ralph can't go to the wedding, though I believe it's to take place
+very soon.
+
+"And who's the young lady?"
+
+"A member of the aristocracy; Lady Flora, Lady Felicia--something of
+that sort."
+
+"I'm very glad," Isabel said. "It must be a sudden decision."
+
+"Sudden enough, I believe; a courtship of three weeks. It has only just
+been made public."
+
+"I'm very glad," Isabel repeated with a larger emphasis. She knew her
+aunt was watching her--looking for the signs of some imputed soreness,
+and the desire to prevent her companion from seeing anything of this
+kind enabled her to speak in the tone of quick satisfaction, the tone
+almost of relief. Mrs. Touchett of course followed the tradition that
+ladies, even married ones, regard the marriage of their old lovers as
+an offence to themselves. Isabel's first care therefore was to show
+that however that might be in general she was not offended now. But
+meanwhile, as I say, her heart beat faster; and if she sat for some
+moments thoughtful--she presently forgot Mrs. Touchett's observation--it
+was not because she had lost an admirer. Her imagination had traversed
+half Europe; it halted, panting, and even trembling a little, in the
+city of Rome. She figured herself announcing to her husband that Lord
+Warburton was to lead a bride to the altar, and she was of course
+not aware how extremely wan she must have looked while she made this
+intellectual effort. But at last she collected herself and said to her
+aunt: "He was sure to do it some time or other."
+
+Mrs. Touchett was silent; then she gave a sharp little shake of the
+head. "Ah, my dear, you're beyond me!" she cried suddenly. They went on
+with their luncheon in silence; Isabel felt as if she had heard of Lord
+Warburton's death. She had known him only as a suitor, and now that was
+all over. He was dead for poor Pansy; by Pansy he might have lived. A
+servant had been hovering about; at last Mrs. Touchett requested him
+to leave them alone. She had finished her meal; she sat with her
+hands folded on the edge of the table. "I should like to ask you three
+questions," she observed when the servant had gone.
+
+"Three are a great many."
+
+"I can't do with less; I've been thinking. They're all very good ones."
+
+"That's what I'm afraid of. The best questions are the worst," Isabel
+answered. Mrs. Touchett had pushed back her chair, and as her niece left
+the table and walked, rather consciously, to one of the deep windows,
+she felt herself followed by her eyes.
+
+"Have you ever been sorry you didn't marry Lord Warburton?" Mrs.
+Touchett enquired.
+
+Isabel shook her head slowly, but not heavily. "No, dear aunt."
+
+"Good. I ought to tell you that I propose to believe what you say."
+
+"Your believing me's an immense temptation," she declared, smiling
+still.
+
+"A temptation to lie? I don't recommend you to do that, for when I'm
+misinformed I'm as dangerous as a poisoned rat. I don't mean to crow
+over you."
+
+"It's my husband who doesn't get on with me," said Isabel.
+
+"I could have told him he wouldn't. I don't call that crowing over YOU,"
+Mrs. Touchett added. "Do you still like Serena Merle?" she went on.
+
+"Not as I once did. But it doesn't matter, for she's going to America."
+
+"To America? She must have done something very bad."
+
+"Yes--very bad."
+
+"May I ask what it is?"
+
+"She made a convenience of me."
+
+"Ah," cried Mrs. Touchett, "so she did of me! She does of every one."
+
+"She'll make a convenience of America," said Isabel, smiling again and
+glad that her aunt's questions were over.
+
+It was not till the evening that she was able to see Ralph. He had been
+dozing all day; at least he had been lying unconscious. The doctor was
+there, but after a while went away--the local doctor, who had attended
+his father and whom Ralph liked. He came three or four times a day; he
+was deeply interested in his patient. Ralph had had Sir Matthew Hope,
+but he had got tired of this celebrated man, to whom he had asked his
+mother to send word he was now dead and was therefore without further
+need of medical advice. Mrs. Touchett had simply written to Sir Matthew
+that her son disliked him. On the day of Isabel's arrival Ralph gave no
+sign, as I have related, for many hours; but toward evening he raised
+himself and said he knew that she had come.
+
+How he knew was not apparent, inasmuch as for fear of exciting him no
+one had offered the information. Isabel came in and sat by his bed in
+the dim light; there was only a shaded candle in a corner of the room.
+She told the nurse she might go--she herself would sit with him for the
+rest of the evening. He had opened his eyes and recognised her, and had
+moved his hand, which lay helpless beside him, so that she might take
+it. But he was unable to speak; he closed his eyes again and remained
+perfectly still, only keeping her hand in his own. She sat with him a
+long time--till the nurse came back; but he gave no further sign. He
+might have passed away while she looked at him; he was already the
+figure and pattern of death. She had thought him far gone in Rome,
+and this was worse; there was but one change possible now. There was a
+strange tranquillity in his face; it was as still as the lid of a box.
+With this he was a mere lattice of bones; when he opened his eyes to
+greet her it was as if she were looking into immeasurable space. It was
+not till midnight that the nurse came back; but the hours, to Isabel,
+had not seemed long; it was exactly what she had come for. If she had
+come simply to wait she found ample occasion, for he lay three days in
+a kind of grateful silence. He recognised her and at moments seemed to
+wish to speak; but he found no voice. Then he closed his eyes again, as
+if he too were waiting for something--for something that certainly would
+come. He was so absolutely quiet that it seemed to her what was coming
+had already arrived; and yet she never lost the sense that they were
+still together. But they were not always together; there were other
+hours that she passed in wandering through the empty house and listening
+for a voice that was not poor Ralph's. She had a constant fear; she
+thought it possible her husband would write to her. But he remained
+silent, and she only got a letter from Florence and from the Countess
+Gemini. Ralph, however, spoke at last--on the evening of the third day.
+
+"I feel better to-night," he murmured, abruptly, in the soundless
+dimness of her vigil; "I think I can say something." She sank upon her
+knees beside his pillow; took his thin hand in her own; begged him
+not to make an effort--not to tire himself. His face was of necessity
+serious--it was incapable of the muscular play of a smile; but its owner
+apparently had not lost a perception of incongruities. "What does it
+matter if I'm tired when I've all eternity to rest? There's no harm in
+making an effort when it's the very last of all. Don't people always
+feel better just before the end? I've often heard of that; it's what I
+was waiting for. Ever since you've been here I thought it would come.
+I tried two or three times; I was afraid you'd get tired of sitting
+there." He spoke slowly, with painful breaks and long pauses; his voice
+seemed to come from a distance. When he ceased he lay with his face
+turned to Isabel and his large unwinking eyes open into her own. "It
+was very good of you to come," he went on. "I thought you would; but I
+wasn't sure."
+
+"I was not sure either till I came," said Isabel.
+
+"You've been like an angel beside my bed. You know they talk about the
+angel of death. It's the most beautiful of all. You've been like that;
+as if you were waiting for me."
+
+"I was not waiting for your death; I was waiting for--for this. This is
+not death, dear Ralph."
+
+"Not for you--no. There's nothing makes us feel so much alive as to see
+others die. That's the sensation of life--the sense that we remain. I've
+had it--even I. But now I'm of no use but to give it to others. With me
+it's all over." And then he paused. Isabel bowed her head further, till
+it rested on the two hands that were clasped upon his own. She couldn't
+see him now; but his far-away voice was close to her ear. "Isabel," he
+went on suddenly, "I wish it were over for you." She answered nothing;
+she had burst into sobs; she remained so, with her buried face. He lay
+silent, listening to her sobs; at last he gave a long groan. "Ah, what
+is it you have done for me?"
+
+"What is it you did for me?" she cried, her now extreme agitation half
+smothered by her attitude. She had lost all her shame, all wish to hide
+things. Now he must know; she wished him to know, for it brought them
+supremely together, and he was beyond the reach of pain. "You did
+something once--you know it. O Ralph, you've been everything! What have
+I done for you--what can I do to-day? I would die if you could live.
+But I don't wish you to live; I would die myself, not to lose you." Her
+voice was as broken as his own and full of tears and anguish.
+
+"You won't lose me--you'll keep me. Keep me in your heart; I shall be
+nearer to you than I've ever been. Dear Isabel, life is better; for in
+life there's love. Death is good--but there's no love."
+
+"I never thanked you--I never spoke--I never was what I should be!"
+Isabel went on. She felt a passionate need to cry out and accuse
+herself, to let her sorrow possess her. All her troubles, for the
+moment, became single and melted together into this present pain. "What
+must you have thought of me? Yet how could I know? I never knew, and I
+only know to-day because there are people less stupid than I."
+
+"Don't mind people," said Ralph. "I think I'm glad to leave people."
+
+She raised her head and her clasped hands; she seemed for a moment to
+pray to him. "Is it true--is it true?" she asked.
+
+"True that you've been stupid? Oh no," said Ralph with a sensible
+intention of wit.
+
+"That you made me rich--that all I have is yours?"
+
+He turned away his head, and for some time said nothing. Then at last:
+"Ah, don't speak of that--that was not happy." Slowly he moved his face
+toward her again, and they once more saw each other. "But for that--but
+for that--!" And he paused. "I believe I ruined you," he wailed.
+
+She was full of the sense that he was beyond the reach of pain; he
+seemed already so little of this world. But even if she had not had
+it she would still have spoken, for nothing mattered now but the only
+knowledge that was not pure anguish--the knowledge that they were
+looking at the truth together.
+
+"He married me for the money," she said. She wished to say everything;
+she was afraid he might die before she had done so. He gazed at her a
+little, and for the first time his fixed eyes lowered their lids. But he
+raised them in a moment, and then, "He was greatly in love with you," he
+answered.
+
+"Yes, he was in love with me. But he wouldn't have married me if I had
+been poor. I don't hurt you in saying that. How can I? I only want you
+to understand. I always tried to keep you from understanding; but that's
+all over."
+
+"I always understood," said Ralph.
+
+"I thought you did, and I didn't like it. But now I like it."
+
+"You don't hurt me--you make me very happy." And as Ralph said this
+there was an extraordinary gladness in his voice. She bent her
+head again, and pressed her lips to the back of his hand. "I always
+understood," he continued, "though it was so strange--so pitiful. You
+wanted to look at life for yourself--but you were not allowed; you
+were punished for your wish. You were ground in the very mill of the
+conventional!"
+
+"Oh yes, I've been punished," Isabel sobbed.
+
+He listened to her a little, and then continued: "Was he very bad about
+your coming?"
+
+"He made it very hard for me. But I don't care."
+
+"It is all over then between you?"
+
+"Oh no; I don't think anything's over."
+
+"Are you going back to him?" Ralph gasped.
+
+"I don't know--I can't tell. I shall stay here as long as I may. I don't
+want to think--I needn't think. I don't care for anything but you, and
+that's enough for the present. It will last a little yet. Here on my
+knees, with you dying in my arms, I'm happier than I have been for a
+long time. And I want you to be happy--not to think of anything sad;
+only to feel that I'm near you and I love you. Why should there be
+pain--? In such hours as this what have we to do with pain? That's not
+the deepest thing; there's something deeper."
+
+Ralph evidently found from moment to moment greater difficulty in
+speaking; he had to wait longer to collect himself. At first he appeared
+to make no response to these last words; he let a long time elapse. Then
+he murmured simply: "You must stay here."
+
+"I should like to stay--as long as seems right."
+
+"As seems right--as seems right?" He repeated her words. "Yes, you think
+a great deal about that."
+
+"Of course one must. You're very tired," said Isabel.
+
+"I'm very tired. You said just now that pain's not the deepest thing.
+No--no. But it's very deep. If I could stay--"
+
+"For me you'll always be here," she softly interrupted. It was easy to
+interrupt him.
+
+But he went on, after a moment: "It passes, after all; it's passing now.
+But love remains. I don't know why we should suffer so much. Perhaps I
+shall find out. There are many things in life. You're very young."
+
+"I feel very old," said Isabel.
+
+"You'll grow young again. That's how I see you. I don't believe--I don't
+believe--" But he stopped again; his strength failed him.
+
+She begged him to be quiet now. "We needn't speak to understand each
+other," she said.
+
+"I don't believe that such a generous mistake as yours can hurt you for
+more than a little."
+
+"Oh Ralph, I'm very happy now," she cried through her tears.
+
+"And remember this," he continued, "that if you've been hated
+you've also been loved. Ah but, Isabel--ADORED!" he just audibly and
+lingeringly breathed.
+
+"Oh my brother!" she cried with a movement of still deeper prostration.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LV
+
+He had told her, the first evening she ever spent at Gardencourt, that
+if she should live to suffer enough she might some day see the ghost
+with which the old house was duly provided. She apparently had fulfilled
+the necessary condition; for the next morning, in the cold, faint
+dawn, she knew that a spirit was standing by her bed. She had lain down
+without undressing, it being her belief that Ralph would not outlast
+the night. She had no inclination to sleep; she was waiting, and such
+waiting was wakeful. But she closed her eyes; she believed that as the
+night wore on she should hear a knock at her door. She heard no knock,
+but at the time the darkness began vaguely to grow grey she started up
+from her pillow as abruptly as if she had received a summons. It seemed
+to her for an instant that he was standing there--a vague, hovering
+figure in the vagueness of the room. She stared a moment; she saw his
+white face--his kind eyes; then she saw there was nothing. She was not
+afraid; she was only sure. She quitted the place and in her certainty
+passed through dark corridors and down a flight of oaken steps that
+shone in the vague light of a hall-window. Outside Ralph's door she
+stopped a moment, listening, but she seemed to hear only the hush that
+filled it. She opened the door with a hand as gentle as if she were
+lifting a veil from the face of the dead, and saw Mrs. Touchett sitting
+motionless and upright beside the couch of her son, with one of his
+hands in her own. The doctor was on the other side, with poor Ralph's
+further wrist resting in his professional fingers. The two nurses were
+at the foot between them. Mrs. Touchett took no notice of Isabel, but
+the doctor looked at her very hard; then he gently placed Ralph's hand
+in a proper position, close beside him. The nurse looked at her very
+hard too, and no one said a word; but Isabel only looked at what she had
+come to see. It was fairer than Ralph had ever been in life, and there
+was a strange resemblance to the face of his father, which, six years
+before, she had seen lying on the same pillow. She went to her aunt
+and put her arm around her; and Mrs. Touchett, who as a general thing
+neither invited nor enjoyed caresses, submitted for a moment to this
+one, rising, as might be, to take it. But she was stiff and dry-eyed;
+her acute white face was terrible.
+
+"Dear Aunt Lydia," Isabel murmured.
+
+"Go and thank God you've no child," said Mrs. Touchett, disengaging
+herself.
+
+Three days after this a considerable number of people found time, at the
+height of the London "season," to take a morning train down to a quiet
+station in Berkshire and spend half an hour in a small grey church which
+stood within an easy walk. It was in the green burial-place of this
+edifice that Mrs. Touchett consigned her son to earth. She stood herself
+at the edge of the grave, and Isabel stood beside her; the sexton
+himself had not a more practical interest in the scene than Mrs.
+Touchett. It was a solemn occasion, but neither a harsh nor a heavy one;
+there was a certain geniality in the appearance of things. The weather
+had changed to fair; the day, one of the last of the treacherous
+May-time, was warm and windless, and the air had the brightness of the
+hawthorn and the blackbird. If it was sad to think of poor Touchett, it
+was not too sad, since death, for him, had had no violence. He had been
+dying so long; he was so ready; everything had been so expected and
+prepared. There were tears in Isabel's eyes, but they were not tears
+that blinded. She looked through them at the beauty of the day, the
+splendour of nature, the sweetness of the old English churchyard, the
+bowed heads of good friends. Lord Warburton was there, and a group
+of gentlemen all unknown to her, several of whom, as she afterwards
+learned, were connected with the bank; and there were others whom she
+knew. Miss Stackpole was among the first, with honest Mr. Bantling
+beside her; and Caspar Goodwood, lifting his head higher than the
+rest--bowing it rather less. During much of the time Isabel was
+conscious of Mr. Goodwood's gaze; he looked at her somewhat harder than
+he usually looked in public, while the others had fixed their eyes upon
+the churchyard turf. But she never let him see that she saw him; she
+thought of him only to wonder that he was still in England. She found
+she had taken for granted that after accompanying Ralph to Gardencourt
+he had gone away; she remembered how little it was a country that
+pleased him. He was there, however, very distinctly there; and
+something in his attitude seemed to say that he was there with a complex
+intention. She wouldn't meet his eyes, though there was doubtless
+sympathy in them; he made her rather uneasy. With the dispersal of the
+little group he disappeared, and the only person who came to speak to
+her--though several spoke to Mrs. Touchett--was Henrietta Stackpole.
+Henrietta had been crying.
+
+Ralph had said to Isabel that he hoped she would remain at Gardencourt,
+and she made no immediate motion to leave the place. She said to herself
+that it was but common charity to stay a little with her aunt. It was
+fortunate she had so good a formula; otherwise she might have been
+greatly in want of one. Her errand was over; she had done what she had
+left her husband to do. She had a husband in a foreign city, counting
+the hours of her absence; in such a case one needed an excellent motive.
+He was not one of the best husbands, but that didn't alter the case.
+Certain obligations were involved in the very fact of marriage, and were
+quite independent of the quantity of enjoyment extracted from it. Isabel
+thought of her husband as little as might be; but now that she was at a
+distance, beyond its spell, she thought with a kind of spiritual shudder
+of Rome. There was a penetrating chill in the image, and she drew
+back into the deepest shade of Gardencourt. She lived from day to day,
+postponing, closing her eyes, trying not to think. She knew she must
+decide, but she decided nothing; her coming itself had not been a
+decision. On that occasion she had simply started. Osmond gave no sound
+and now evidently would give none; he would leave it all to her. From
+Pansy she heard nothing, but that was very simple: her father had told
+her not to write.
+
+Mrs. Touchett accepted Isabel's company, but offered her no assistance;
+she appeared to be absorbed in considering, without enthusiasm but
+with perfect lucidity, the new conveniences of her own situation. Mrs.
+Touchett was not an optimist, but even from painful occurrences she
+managed to extract a certain utility. This consisted in the reflexion
+that, after all, such things happened to other people and not to
+herself. Death was disagreeable, but in this case it was her son's
+death, not her own; she had never flattered herself that her own would
+be disagreeable to any one but Mrs. Touchett. She was better off than
+poor Ralph, who had left all the commodities of life behind him,
+and indeed all the security; since the worst of dying was, to Mrs.
+Touchett's mind, that it exposed one to be taken advantage of. For
+herself she was on the spot; there was nothing so good as that. She
+made known to Isabel very punctually--it was the evening her son was
+buried--several of Ralph's testamentary arrangements. He had told her
+everything, had consulted her about everything. He left her no money;
+of course she had no need of money. He left her the furniture of
+Gardencourt, exclusive of the pictures and books and the use of the
+place for a year; after which it was to be sold. The money produced by
+the sale was to constitute an endowment for a hospital for poor persons
+suffering from the malady of which he died; and of this portion of the
+will Lord Warburton was appointed executor. The rest of his property,
+which was to be withdrawn from the bank, was disposed of in various
+bequests, several of them to those cousins in Vermont to whom his
+father had already been so bountiful. Then there were a number of small
+legacies.
+
+"Some of them are extremely peculiar," said Mrs. Touchett; "he has left
+considerable sums to persons I never heard of. He gave me a list, and I
+asked then who some of them were, and he told me they were people who at
+various times had seemed to like him. Apparently he thought you didn't
+like him, for he hasn't left you a penny. It was his opinion that you
+had been handsomely treated by his father, which I'm bound to say I
+think you were--though I don't mean that I ever heard him complain of
+it. The pictures are to be dispersed; he has distributed them about, one
+by one, as little keepsakes. The most valuable of the collection goes to
+Lord Warburton. And what do you think he has done with his library?
+It sounds like a practical joke. He has left it to your friend Miss
+Stackpole--'in recognition of her services to literature.' Does he mean
+her following him up from Rome? Was that a service to literature? It
+contains a great many rare and valuable books, and as she can't carry
+it about the world in her trunk he recommends her to sell it at auction.
+She will sell it of course at Christie's, and with the proceeds she'll
+set up a newspaper. Will that be a service to literature?"
+
+This question Isabel forbore to answer, as it exceeded the little
+interrogatory to which she had deemed it necessary to submit on her
+arrival. Besides, she had never been less interested in literature than
+to-day, as she found when she occasionally took down from the shelf one
+of the rare and valuable volumes of which Mrs. Touchett had spoken. She
+was quite unable to read; her attention had never been so little at her
+command. One afternoon, in the library, about a week after the ceremony
+in the churchyard, she was trying to fix it for an hour; but her eyes
+often wandered from the book in her hand to the open window, which
+looked down the long avenue. It was in this way that she saw a modest
+vehicle approach the door and perceived Lord Warburton sitting, in
+rather an uncomfortable attitude, in a corner of it. He had always had
+a high standard of courtesy, and it was therefore not remarkable, under
+the circumstances, that he should have taken the trouble to come down
+from London to call on Mrs. Touchett. It was of course Mrs. Touchett
+he had come to see, and not Mrs. Osmond; and to prove to herself the
+validity of this thesis Isabel presently stepped out of the house and
+wandered away into the park. Since her arrival at Gardencourt she
+had been but little out of doors, the weather being unfavourable for
+visiting the grounds. This evening, however, was fine, and at first it
+struck her as a happy thought to have come out. The theory I have just
+mentioned was plausible enough, but it brought her little rest, and
+if you had seen her pacing about you would have said she had a bad
+conscience. She was not pacified when at the end of a quarter of an
+hour, finding herself in view of the house, she saw Mrs. Touchett emerge
+from the portico accompanied by her visitor. Her aunt had evidently
+proposed to Lord Warburton that they should come in search of her. She
+was in no humour for visitors and, if she had had a chance, would have
+drawn back behind one of the great trees. But she saw she had been seen
+and that nothing was left her but to advance. As the lawn at Gardencourt
+was a vast expanse this took some time; during which she observed that,
+as he walked beside his hostess, Lord Warburton kept his hands rather
+stiffly behind him and his eyes upon the ground. Both persons apparently
+were silent; but Mrs. Touchett's thin little glance, as she directed it
+toward Isabel, had even at a distance an expression. It seemed to say
+with cutting sharpness: "Here's the eminently amenable nobleman you
+might have married!" When Lord Warburton lifted his own eyes, however,
+that was not what they said. They only said "This is rather awkward, you
+know, and I depend upon you to help me." He was very grave, very proper
+and, for the first time since Isabel had known him, greeted her without
+a smile. Even in his days of distress he had always begun with a smile.
+He looked extremely selfconscious.
+
+"Lord Warburton has been so good as to come out to see me," said Mrs.
+Touchett. "He tells me he didn't know you were still here. I know he's
+an old friend of yours, and as I was told you were not in the house I
+brought him out to see for himself."
+
+"Oh, I saw there was a good train at 6.40, that would get me back
+in time for dinner," Mrs. Touchett's companion rather irrelevantly
+explained. "I'm so glad to find you've not gone."
+
+"I'm not here for long, you know," Isabel said with a certain eagerness.
+
+"I suppose not; but I hope it's for some weeks. You came to England
+sooner than--a--than you thought?"
+
+"Yes, I came very suddenly."
+
+Mrs. Touchett turned away as if she were looking at the condition of the
+grounds, which indeed was not what it should be, while Lord Warburton
+hesitated a little. Isabel fancied he had been on the point of asking
+about her husband--rather confusedly--and then had checked himself. He
+continued immitigably grave, either because he thought it becoming in a
+place over which death had just passed, or for more personal reasons. If
+he was conscious of personal reasons it was very fortunate that he had
+the cover of the former motive; he could make the most of that. Isabel
+thought of all this. It was not that his face was sad, for that was
+another matter; but it was strangely inexpressive.
+
+"My sisters would have been so glad to come if they had known you were
+still here--if they had thought you would see them," Lord Warburton went
+on. "Do kindly let them see you before you leave England."
+
+"It would give me great pleasure; I have such a friendly recollection of
+them."
+
+"I don't know whether you would come to Lockleigh for a day or two?
+You know there's always that old promise." And his lordship coloured a
+little as he made this suggestion, which gave his face a somewhat more
+familiar air. "Perhaps I'm not right in saying that just now; of course
+you're not thinking of visiting. But I meant what would hardly be a
+visit. My sisters are to be at Lockleigh at Whitsuntide for five days;
+and if you could come then--as you say you're not to be very long in
+England--I would see that there should be literally no one else."
+
+Isabel wondered if not even the young lady he was to marry would be
+there with her mamma; but she did not express this idea.
+
+"Thank you extremely," she contented herself with saying; "I'm afraid I
+hardly know about Whitsuntide."
+
+"But I have your promise--haven't I?--for some other time."
+
+There was an interrogation in this; but Isabel let it pass. She looked
+at her interlocutor a moment, and the result of her observation was
+that--as had happened before--she felt sorry for him. "Take care you
+don't miss your train," she said. And then she added: "I wish you every
+happiness."
+
+He blushed again, more than before, and he looked at his watch. "Ah yes,
+6.40; I haven't much time, but I've a fly at the door. Thank you very
+much." It was not apparent whether the thanks applied to her having
+reminded him of his train or to the more sentimental remark. "Good-bye,
+Mrs. Osmond; good-bye." He shook hands with her, without meeting her
+eyes, and then he turned to Mrs. Touchett, who had wandered back to
+them. With her his parting was equally brief; and in a moment the two
+ladies saw him move with long steps across the lawn.
+
+"Are you very sure he's to be married?" Isabel asked of her aunt.
+
+"I can't be surer than he; but he seems sure. I congratulated him, and
+he accepted it."
+
+"Ah," said Isabel, "I give it up!"--while her aunt returned to the house
+and to those avocations which the visitor had interrupted.
+
+She gave it up, but she still thought of it--thought of it while she
+strolled again under the great oaks whose shadows were long upon the
+acres of turf. At the end of a few minutes she found herself near a
+rustic bench, which, a moment after she had looked at it, struck her as
+an object recognised. It was not simply that she had seen it before,
+nor even that she had sat upon it; it was that on this spot something
+important had happened to her--that the place had an air of association.
+Then she remembered that she had been sitting there, six years before,
+when a servant brought her from the house the letter in which Caspar
+Goodwood informed her that he had followed her to Europe; and that when
+she had read the letter she looked up to hear Lord Warburton announcing
+that he should like to marry her. It was indeed an historical, an
+interesting, bench; she stood and looked at it as if it might have
+something to say to her. She wouldn't sit down on it now--she felt
+rather afraid of it. She only stood before it, and while she stood the
+past came back to her in one of those rushing waves of emotion by which
+persons of sensibility are visited at odd hours. The effect of this
+agitation was a sudden sense of being very tired, under the influence
+of which she overcame her scruples and sank into the rustic seat. I have
+said that she was restless and unable to occupy herself; and whether or
+no, if you had seen her there, you would have admired the justice of the
+former epithet, you would at least have allowed that at this moment
+she was the image of a victim of idleness. Her attitude had a singular
+absence of purpose; her hands, hanging at her sides, lost themselves in
+the folds of her black dress; her eyes gazed vaguely before her.
+There was nothing to recall her to the house; the two ladies, in their
+seclusion, dined early and had tea at an indefinite hour. How long she
+had sat in this position she could not have told you; but the twilight
+had grown thick when she became aware that she was not alone. She
+quickly straightened herself, glancing about, and then saw what had
+become of her solitude. She was sharing it with Caspar Goodwood,
+who stood looking at her, a few yards off, and whose footfall on the
+unresonant turf, as he came near, she had not heard. It occurred to her
+in the midst of this that it was just so Lord Warburton had surprised
+her of old.
+
+She instantly rose, and as soon as Goodwood saw he was seen he started
+forward. She had had time only to rise when, with a motion that looked
+like violence, but felt like--she knew not what, he grasped her by the
+wrist and made her sink again into the seat. She closed her eyes; he had
+not hurt her; it was only a touch, which she had obeyed. But there was
+something in his face that she wished not to see. That was the way he
+had looked at her the other day in the churchyard; only at present
+it was worse. He said nothing at first; she only felt him close to
+her--beside her on the bench and pressingly turned to her. It almost
+seemed to her that no one had ever been so close to her as that.
+All this, however, took but an instant, at the end of which she had
+disengaged her wrist, turning her eyes upon her visitant. "You've
+frightened me," she said.
+
+"I didn't mean to," he answered, "but if I did a little, no matter.
+I came from London a while ago by the train, but I couldn't come here
+directly. There was a man at the station who got ahead of me. He took
+a fly that was there, and I heard him give the order to drive here. I
+don't know who he was, but I didn't want to come with him; I wanted to
+see you alone. So I've been waiting and walking about. I've walked all
+over, and I was just coming to the house when I saw you here. There was
+a keeper, or someone, who met me; but that was all right, because I
+had made his acquaintance when I came here with your cousin. Is that
+gentleman gone? Are you really alone? I want to speak to you." Goodwood
+spoke very fast; he was as excited as when they had parted in Rome.
+Isabel had hoped that condition would subside; and she shrank into
+herself as she perceived that, on the contrary, he had only let out
+sail. She had a new sensation; he had never produced it before; it was
+a feeling of danger. There was indeed something really formidable in his
+resolution. She gazed straight before her; he, with a hand on each knee,
+leaned forward, looking deeply into her face. The twilight seemed
+to darken round them. "I want to speak to you," he repeated; "I've
+something particular to say. I don't want to trouble you--as I did
+the other day in Rome. That was of no use; it only distressed you. I
+couldn't help it; I knew I was wrong. But I'm not wrong now; please
+don't think I am," he went on with his hard, deep voice melting a moment
+into entreaty. "I came here to-day for a purpose. It's very different.
+It was vain for me to speak to you then; but now I can help you."
+
+She couldn't have told you whether it was because she was afraid, or
+because such a voice in the darkness seemed of necessity a boon; but she
+listened to him as she had never listened before; his words dropped deep
+into her soul. They produced a sort of stillness in all her being; and
+it was with an effort, in a moment, that she answered him. "How can you
+help me?" she asked in a low tone, as if she were taking what he had
+said seriously enough to make the enquiry in confidence.
+
+"By inducing you to trust me. Now I know--to-day I know. Do you remember
+what I asked you in Rome? Then I was quite in the dark. But to-day I
+know on good authority; everything's clear to me to-day. It was a good
+thing when you made me come away with your cousin. He was a good man,
+a fine man, one of the best; he told me how the case stands for you. He
+explained everything; he guessed my sentiments. He was a member of
+your family and he left you--so long as you should be in England--to my
+care," said Goodwood as if he were making a great point. "Do you know
+what he said to me the last time I saw him--as he lay there where he
+died? He said: 'Do everything you can for her; do everything she'll let
+you.'"
+
+Isabel suddenly got up. "You had no business to talk about me!"
+
+"Why not--why not, when we talked in that way?" he demanded, following
+her fast. "And he was dying--when a man's dying it's different." She
+checked the movement she had made to leave him; she was listening more
+than ever; it was true that he was not the same as that last time. That
+had been aimless, fruitless passion, but at present he had an idea,
+which she scented in all her being. "But it doesn't matter!" he
+exclaimed, pressing her still harder, though now without touching a hem
+of her garment. "If Touchett had never opened his mouth I should have
+known all the same. I had only to look at you at your cousin's funeral
+to see what's the matter with you. You can't deceive me any more; for
+God's sake be honest with a man who's so honest with you. You're the
+most unhappy of women, and your husband's the deadliest of fiends."
+
+She turned on him as if he had struck her. "Are you mad?" she cried.
+
+"I've never been so sane; I see the whole thing. Don't think it's
+necessary to defend him. But I won't say another word against him; I'll
+speak only of you," Goodwood added quickly. "How can you pretend you're
+not heart-broken? You don't know what to do--you don't know where to
+turn. It's too late to play a part; didn't you leave all that behind you
+in Rome? Touchett knew all about it, and I knew it too--what it
+would cost you to come here. It will have cost you your life? Say it
+will"--and he flared almost into anger: "give me one word of truth! When
+I know such a horror as that, how can I keep myself from wishing to save
+you? What would you think of me if I should stand still and see you
+go back to your reward? 'It's awful, what she'll have to pay for
+it!'--that's what Touchett said to me. I may tell you that, mayn't I? He
+was such a near relation!" cried Goodwood, making his queer grim point
+again. "I'd sooner have been shot than let another man say those things
+to me; but he was different; he seemed to me to have the right. It was
+after he got home--when he saw he was dying, and when I saw it too.
+I understand all about it: you're afraid to go back. You're perfectly
+alone; you don't know where to turn. You can't turn anywhere; you know
+that perfectly. Now it is therefore that I want you to think of ME."
+
+"To think of 'you'?" Isabel said, standing before him in the dusk. The
+idea of which she had caught a glimpse a few moments before now loomed
+large. She threw back her head a little; she stared at it as if it had
+been a comet in the sky.
+
+"You don't know where to turn. Turn straight to me. I want to persuade
+you to trust me," Goodwood repeated. And then he paused with his shining
+eyes. "Why should you go back--why should you go through that ghastly
+form?"
+
+"To get away from you!" she answered. But this expressed only a little
+of what she felt. The rest was that she had never been loved before. She
+had believed it, but this was different; this was the hot wind of the
+desert, at the approach of which the others dropped dead, like mere
+sweet airs of the garden. It wrapped her about; it lifted her off her
+feet, while the very taste of it, as of something potent, acrid and
+strange, forced open her set teeth.
+
+At first, in rejoinder to what she had said, it seemed to her that
+he would break out into greater violence. But after an instant he was
+perfectly quiet; he wished to prove he was sane, that he had reasoned it
+all out. "I want to prevent that, and I think I may, if you'll only for
+once listen to me. It's too monstrous of you to think of sinking back
+into that misery, of going to open your mouth to that poisoned air. It's
+you that are out of your mind. Trust me as if I had the care of you. Why
+shouldn't we be happy--when it's here before us, when it's so easy? I'm
+yours for ever--for ever and ever. Here I stand; I'm as firm as a rock.
+What have you to care about? You've no children; that perhaps would be
+an obstacle. As it is you've nothing to consider. You must save what you
+can of your life; you mustn't lose it all simply because you've lost a
+part. It would be an insult to you to assume that you care for the look
+of the thing, for what people will say, for the bottomless idiocy of the
+world. We've nothing to do with all that; we're quite out of it; we look
+at things as they are. You took the great step in coming away; the next
+is nothing; it's the natural one. I swear, as I stand here, that a woman
+deliberately made to suffer is justified in anything in life--in going
+down into the streets if that will help her! I know how you suffer, and
+that's why I'm here. We can do absolutely as we please; to whom under
+the sun do we owe anything? What is it that holds us, what is it that
+has the smallest right to interfere in such a question as this? Such a
+question is between ourselves--and to say that is to settle it! Were we
+born to rot in our misery--were we born to be afraid? I never knew YOU
+afraid! If you'll only trust me, how little you will be disappointed!
+The world's all before us--and the world's very big. I know something
+about that."
+
+Isabel gave a long murmur, like a creature in pain; it was as if he were
+pressing something that hurt her.
+
+"The world's very small," she said at random; she had an immense
+desire to appear to resist. She said it at random, to hear herself say
+something; but it was not what she meant. The world, in truth, had never
+seemed so large; it seemed to open out, all round her, to take the form
+of a mighty sea, where she floated in fathomless waters. She had wanted
+help, and here was help; it had come in a rushing torrent. I know not
+whether she believed everything he said; but she believed just then
+that to let him take her in his arms would be the next best thing to her
+dying. This belief, for a moment, was a kind of rapture, in which she
+felt herself sink and sink. In the movement she seemed to beat with her
+feet, in order to catch herself, to feel something to rest on.
+
+"Ah, be mine as I'm yours!" she heard her companion cry. He had suddenly
+given up argument, and his voice seemed to come, harsh and terrible,
+through a confusion of vaguer sounds.
+
+This however, of course, was but a subjective fact, as the
+metaphysicians say; the confusion, the noise of waters, all the rest
+of it, were in her own swimming head. In an instant she became aware of
+this. "Do me the greatest kindness of all," she panted. "I beseech you
+to go away!"
+
+"Ah, don't say that. Don't kill me!" he cried.
+
+She clasped her hands; her eyes were streaming with tears. "As you love
+me, as you pity me, leave me alone!"
+
+He glared at her a moment through the dusk, and the next instant she
+felt his arms about her and his lips on her own lips. His kiss was like
+white lightning, a flash that spread, and spread again, and stayed; and
+it was extraordinarily as if, while she took it, she felt each thing in
+his hard manhood that had least pleased her, each aggressive fact of his
+face, his figure, his presence, justified of its intense identity and
+made one with this act of possession. So had she heard of those wrecked
+and under water following a train of images before they sink. But when
+darkness returned she was free. She never looked about her; she only
+darted from the spot. There were lights in the windows of the house;
+they shone far across the lawn. In an extraordinarily short time--for
+the distance was considerable--she had moved through the darkness (for
+she saw nothing) and reached the door. Here only she paused. She looked
+all about her; she listened a little; then she put her hand on the
+latch. She had not known where to turn; but she knew now. There was a
+very straight path.
+
+Two days afterwards Caspar Goodwood knocked at the door of the house in
+Wimpole Street in which Henrietta Stackpole occupied furnished lodgings.
+He had hardly removed his hand from the knocker when the door was opened
+and Miss Stackpole herself stood before him. She had on her hat and
+jacket; she was on the point of going out. "Oh, good-morning," he said,
+"I was in hopes I should find Mrs. Osmond."
+
+Henrietta kept him waiting a moment for her reply; but there was a good
+deal of expression about Miss Stackpole even when she was silent. "Pray
+what led you to suppose she was here?"
+
+"I went down to Gardencourt this morning, and the servant told me she
+had come to London. He believed she was to come to you."
+
+Again Miss Stackpole held him--with an intention of perfect kindness--in
+suspense. "She came here yesterday, and spent the night. But this
+morning she started for Rome."
+
+Caspar Goodwood was not looking at her; his eyes were fastened on the
+doorstep. "Oh, she started--?" he stammered. And without finishing
+his phrase or looking up he stiffly averted himself. But he couldn't
+otherwise move.
+
+Henrietta had come out, closing the door behind her, and now she put out
+her hand and grasped his arm. "Look here, Mr. Goodwood," she said; "just
+you wait!"
+
+On which he looked up at her--but only to guess, from her face, with a
+revulsion, that she simply meant he was young. She stood shining at him
+with that cheap comfort, and it added, on the spot, thirty years to his
+life. She walked him away with her, however, as if she had given him now
+the key to patience.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Portrait of a Lady, by Henry James
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