Page 427 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

‘Bon voyage then.’
‘You’re in a great hurry to get rid of me,’ said his lordship
quite dismally.
‘Not in the least. But I hate partings.’
‘You don’t care what I do,’ he went on pitifully.
Isabel looked at him a moment. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘you’re not
keeping your promise!’
He coloured like a boy of fifteen. ‘If I’m not, then it’s be-
cause I can’t; and that’s why I’m going.’
‘Good-bye then.’
‘Good-bye.’ He lingered still, however. ‘When shall I see
you again?’
Isabel hesitated, but soon, as if she had had a happy in-
spiration: ‘Some day after you’re married.’
‘That will never be. It will be after you are.’
‘That will do as well,’ she smiled.
‘Yes, quite as well. Good-bye.’
They shook hands, and he left her alone in the glorious
room, among the shining antique marbles. She sat down in
the centre of the circle of these presences, regarding them
vaguely, resting her eyes on their beautiful blank faces; lis-
tening, as it were, to their eternal silence. It is impossible,
in Rome at least, to look long at a great company of Greek
sculptures without feeling the effect of their noble quietude;
which, as with a high door closed for the ceremony, slowly
drops on the spirit the large white mantle of peace. I say
in Rome especially, because the Roman air is an exquisite
medium for such impressions. The golden sunshine min-
gles with them, the deep stillness of the past, so vivid yet,

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