Page 426 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

‘Women—when they are very, very good—sometimes
pity men after they’ve hurt them; that’s their great way of
showing kindness,’ said Ralph, joining in the conversation
for the first time and with a cynicism so transparently inge-
nious as to be virtually innocent.
‘Pray, have I hurt Lord Warburton?’ Isabel asked, raising
her eyebrows as if the idea were perfectly fresh.
‘It serves him right if you have,’ said Henrietta while the
curtain rose for the ballet.
Isabel saw no more of her attributive victim for the next
twenty-four hours, but on the second day after the visit to
the opera she encountered him in the gallery of the Capitol,
where he stood before the lion of the collection, the statue
of the Dying Gladiator. She had come in with her compan-
ions, among whom, on this occasion again, Gilbert Osmond
had his place, and the party, having ascended the staircase,
entered the first and finest of the rooms. Lord Warburton
addressed her alertly enough, but said in a moment that he
was leaving the gallery. ‘And I’m leaving Rome,’ he added.
‘I must bid you good-bye.’ Isabel, inconsequently enough,
was now sorry to hear it. This was perhaps because she had
ceased to be afraid of his renewing his suit; she was think-
ing of something else. She was on the point of naming her
regret, but she checked herself and simply wished him a
happy journey; which made him look at her rather unlight-
edly. ‘I’m afraid you’ll think me very ‘volatile.’ I told you the
other day I wanted so much to stop.’
‘Oh no; you could easily change your mind.’
‘That’s what I have done.’

426 The Portrait of a Lady