Page 346 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

‘Used to them?’ Isabel repeated with that solemn stare
which sometimes seemed to proclaim her deficient in the
sense of comedy. ‘Why, I’m not afraid of them—I’m as used
to them as the cook to the butcher-boys.’
‘Used to them, I mean, so as to despise them. That’s what
one comes to with most of them. You’ll pick out, for your
society, the few whom you don’t despise.’
This was a note of cynicism that Madame Merle didn’t
often allow herself to sound; but Isabel was not alarmed, for
she had never supposed that as one saw more of the world
the sentiment of respect became the most active of one’s
emotions. It was excited, none the less, by the beautiful city
of Florence, which pleased her not less than Madame Mer-
le had promised; and if her unassisted perception had not
been able to gauge its charms she had clever companions
as priests to the mystery. She was in no want indeed of aes-
thetic illumination, for Ralph found it a joy that renewed his
own early passion to act as cicerone to his eager young kins-
woman. Madame Merle remained at home; she had seen the
treasures of Florence again and again and had always some-
thing else to do. But she talked of all things with remarkable
vividness of memory—she recalled the right-hand corner of
the large Perugino and the position of the hands of the Saint
Elizabeth in the picture next to it. She had her opinions as to
the character of many famous works of art, differing often
from Ralph with great sharpness and defending her inter-
pretations with as much ingenuity as good-humour. Isabel
listened to the discussions taking place between the two
with a sense that she might derive much benefit from them

346 The Portrait of a Lady