Page 271 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

than porcelain. But you may depend on it that every one
bears some mark; even the hardest iron pots have a little
bruise, a little hole somewhere. I flatter myself that I’m rath-
er stout, but if I must tell you the truth I’ve been shockingly
chipped and cracked. I do very well for service yet, because
I’ve been cleverly mended; and I try to remain in the cup-
board—the quiet, dusky cupboard where there’s an odour
of stale spices—as much as I can. But when I’ve to come out
and into a strong light—then, my dear, I’m a horror!’
I know not whether it was on this occasion or on some
other that when the conversation had taken the turn I have
just indicated she said to Isabel that she would some day a
tale unfold. Isabel assured her she should delight to listen
to one, and reminded her more than once of this engage-
ment. Madame Merle, however, begged repeatedly for a
respite, and at last frankly told her young companion that
they must wait till they knew each other better. This would
be sure to happen; a long friendship so visibly lay before
them. Isabel assented, but at the same time enquired if she
mightn’t be trusted—if she appeared capable of a betrayal
of confidence.
‘It’s not that I’m afraid of your repeating what I say,’ her
fellow visitor answered; ‘I’m afraid, on the contrary, of your
taking it too much to yourself. You’d judge me too harshly;
you’re of the cruel age.’ She preferred for the present to talk
to Isabel of Isabel, and exhibited the greatest interest in our
heroine’s history, sentiments, opinions, prospects. She made
her chatter and listened to her chatter infinite good nature.
This flattered and quickened the girl, who was struck with

271