Page 672 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

fect 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 men-
tioned 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 ex-
pressive. ‘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 Warbur-
ton 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 plea-
sure 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

672 The Portrait of a Lady