Page 278 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

rather good old damask. She talked of places, of people and
even, as the phrase is, of ‘subjects”; and from time to time
she talked of their kind old host and of the prospect of his
recovery. From the first she had thought this prospect small,
and Isabel had been struck with the positive, discriminat-
ing, competent way in which she took the measure of his
remainder of life. One evening she announced definitely
that he wouldn’t live.
‘Sir Matthew Hope told me so as plainly as was prop-
er,’ she said; ‘standing there, near the fire, before dinner. He
makes himself very agreeable, the great doctor. I don’t mean
his saying that has anything to do with it. But he says such
things with great tact. I had told him I felt ill at my ease,
staying here at such a time; it seemed to me so indiscreet—it
wasn’t as if I could nurse. ‘You must remain, you must re-
main,’ he answered; ‘your office will come later.’ Wasn’t that
a very delicate way of saying both that poor Mr. Touchett
would go and that I might be of some use as a consoler? In
fact, however, I shall not be of the slightest use. Your aunt
will console herself; she, and she alone, knows just how
much consolation she’ll require. It would be a very delicate
matter for another person to undertake to administer the
dose. With your cousin it will be different; he’ll miss his
father immensely. But I should never presume to condole
with Mr. Ralph; we’re not on those terms.’ Madame Merle
had alluded more than once to some undefined incongruity
in her relations with Ralph Touchett; so Isabel took this oc-
casion of asking her if they were not good friends.
‘Perfectly, but he doesn’t like me.’

278 The Portrait of a Lady