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is much more probable that Isabel would have taken it in
good part; but, strange to say, the words that Madame Merle
actually used caused her the first feeling of displeasure she
had known this ally to excite. ‘That’s more than I intended,’
she answered coldly. ‘I’m under no obligation that I know of
to charm Mr. Osmond.’
Madame Merle perceptibly flushed, but we know it was
not her habit to retract. ‘My dear child, I didn’t speak for
him, poor man; I spoke for yourself. It’s not of course a
question as to his liking you; it matters little whether he
likes you or not! But I thought you liked him.’
‘I did,’ said Isabel honestly. ‘But I don’t see what that mat-
ters either.’
‘Everything that concerns you matters to me,’ Madame
Merle returned with her weary nobleness; ‘especially when
at the same time another old friend’s concerned.’
Whatever Isabel’s obligations may have been to Mr. Os-
mond, it must be admitted that she found them sufficient
to lead her to put to Ralph sundry questions about him.
She thought Ralph’s judgements distorted by his trials, but
she flattered herself she had learned to make allowance for
that.
‘Do I know him?’ said her cousin. ‘Oh, yes, I ‘know’ him;
not well, but on the whole enough. I’ve never cultivated his
society, and he apparently has never found mine indispens-
able to his happiness. Who is he, what is he? He’s a vague,
unexplained American who has been living these thirty
years, or less, in Italy. Why do I call him unexplained? Only
as a cover for my ignorance; I don’t know his antecedents,

350 The Portrait of a Lady