Page 804 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

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 re-
turned 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 undeco-
rated 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 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

804 The Portrait of a Lady