Page 806 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

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 oth-
er 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 inexpres-
siveness, 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 en-
richments of consciousness and privately trying-reaching
out for some aftertaste of life, dregs of the banquet; the tes-
timony 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

806 The Portrait of a Lady