Page 784 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

‘We think of you always-you’re a precious charge,’ Ma-
dame 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 scarce-
ly 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 criticize; 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.’

784 The Portrait of a Lady