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‘I’ll ask him myself,’ Madame Merle bravely declared.
‘But what business—for him—is it of yours?’
‘It’s being none whatever is just why I can afford to speak.
It’s so much less my business than any one’s else that he can
put me off with anything he chooses. But it will be by the
way he does this that I shall know.’
‘Pray let me hear then,’ said Mrs. Touchett, ‘of the fruits
of your penetration. If I can’t speak to him, however, at least
I can speak to Isabel.’
Her companion sounded at this the note of warning.
‘Don’t be too quick with her. Don’t inflame her imagina-
tion.’
‘I never did anything in my life to any one’s imagination.
But I’m always sure of her doing something—well, not of
my kind.’
‘No, you wouldn’t like this,’ Madame Merle observed
without the point of interrogation.
‘Why in the world should I, pray? Mr. Osmond has noth-
ing the least solid to offer.’
Again Madame Merle was silent while her thoughtful
smile drew up her mouth even more charmingly than usual
toward the left corner. ‘Let us distinguish. Gilbert Osmond’s
certainly not the first comer. He’s a man who in favourable
conditions might very well make a great impression. He
has made a great impression, to my knowledge, more than
once.’
‘Don’t tell me about his probably quite cold-blooded love-
affairs; they’re nothing to me!’ Mrs. Touchett cried. ‘What
you say’s precisely why I wish he would cease his visits. He

390 The Portrait of a Lady