Page 244 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

Touchett affirmed in her little dry tone.
‘A very little of it, I am sure, will content Miss Archer!’
the lady exclaimed with a light laugh. ‘I’m an old friend of
your aunt’s. I’ve lived much in Florence. I’m Madame Mer-
le.’ She made this last announcement as if she were referring
to a person of tolerably distinct identity. For Isabel, howev-
er, it represented little; she could only continue to feel that
Madame Merle had as charming a manner as any she had
ever encountered.
‘She’s not a foreigner in spite of her name,’ said Mrs.
Touchett. ‘She was born—I always forget where you were
born.’
‘It’s hardly worth while then I should tell you.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Mrs. Touchett, who rarely missed
a logical point; ‘if I remembered your telling me would be
quite superfluous.’
Madame Merle glanced at Isabel with a sort of world-
wide smile, a thing that over-reached frontiers. ‘I was born
under the shadow of the national banner.’
‘She’s too fond of mystery,’ said Mrs. Touchett; ‘that’s her
great fault.’
‘Ah,’ exclaimed Madame Merle, ‘I’ve great faults, but I
don’t think that’s one of them; it certainly isn’t the greatest.
I came into the world in the Brooklyn navy-yard. My fa-
ther was a high officer in the United States Navy, and had a
post—a post of responsibility—in that establishment at the
time. I suppose I ought to love the sea, but I hate it. That’s
why I don’t return to America. I love the land; the great
thing is to love something.’

244 The Portrait of a Lady