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her idea before your father’s death, and it has acquired new
charms for her since. She ought to marry some one of whose
disinterestedness she shall herself be sure; and there would
be no such proof of that as his having a fortune of his own.’
‘My dear mother, I’m not afraid,’ Ralph answered. ‘She’s
making fools of us all. She’ll please herself, of course; but
she’ll do so by studying human nature at close quarters and
yet retaining her liberty. She has started on an exploring
expedition, and I don’t think she’ll change her course, at
the outset, at a signal from Gilbert Osmond. She may have
slackened speed for an hour, but before we know it she’ll be
steaming away again. Excuse another metaphor.’
Mrs. Touchett excused it perhaps, but was not so much
reassured as to withhold from Madame Merle the expres-
sion of her fears. ‘You who know everything,’ she said, ‘you
must know this: whether that curious creature’s really mak-
ing love to my niece.’
‘Gilbert Osmond?’ Madame Merle widened her clear
eyes and, with a full intelligence, ‘Heaven help us,’ she ex-
claimed, ‘that’s an idea!’
‘Hadn’t it occurred to you?’
‘You make me feel an idiot, but I confess it hadn’t. I won-
der,’ she added, ‘if it has occurred to Isabel.’
‘Oh, I shall now ask her,’ said Mrs. Touchett.
Madame Merle reflected. ‘Don’t put it into her head. The
thing would be to ask Mr. Osmond.’
‘I can’t do that,’ said Mrs. Touchett. ‘I won’t have him en-
quire of me—as he perfectly may with that air of his, given
Isabel’s situation—what business it is of mine.’

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