Page 280 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

her, made her raise her clear eyebrows at the time and think
of the words afterwards. ‘I’d give a great deal to be your age
again,’ she broke out once with a bitterness which, though
diluted in her customary amplitude of ease, was imperfectly
disguised by it. ‘If I could only begin again—if I could have
my life before me!’
‘Your life’s before you yet,’ Isabel answered gently, for she
was vaguely awe-struck.
‘No; the best part’s gone, and gone for nothing.’
‘Surely not for nothing,’ said Isabel.
‘Why not—what have I got? Neither husband, nor child,
nor fortune, nor position, nor the traces of a beauty that I
never had.’
‘You have many friends, dear lady.’
‘I’m not so sure!’ cried Madame Merle.
‘Ah, you’re wrong. You have memories, graces, talents-.’
But Madame Merle interrupted her. ‘What have my tal-
ents brought me? Nothing but the need of using them still,
to get through the hours, the years, to cheat myself with
some pretence of movement, of unconsciousness. As for my
graces and memories the less said about them the better.
You’ll be my friend till you find a better use for your friend-
ship.’
‘It will be for you to see that I don’t then,’ said Isabel.
‘Yes; I would make an effort to keep you.’ And her com-
panion looked at her gravely. ‘When I say I should like to
be your age I mean with your qualities—frank, generous,
sincere like you. In that case I should have made something
better of my life.’

280 The Portrait of a Lady