Page 712 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

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 Thurs-
day, 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 al-
most always was present when his wife received. They sat
down together, and Osmond, talkative, communicative, ex-
pansive, seemed possessed with a kind of intellectual gaiety.
He leaned back with his legs crossed, lounging and chat-
ting, 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 quick-
ened 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 surpris-
ingly scarce in Rome. He must be sure to come back; there
was something very refreshing, to an inveterate Italian like

712 The Portrait of a Lady