Page 428 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

though it is nothing but a void full of names, seems to throw
a solemn spell upon them. The blinds were partly closed
in the windows of the Capitol, and a clear, warm shadow
rested on the figures and made them more mildly human.
Isabel sat there a long time, under the charm of their mo-
tionless grace, wondering to what, of their experience, their
absent eyes were open, and how, to our ears, their alien lips
would sound. The dark red walls of the room threw them
into relief; the polished marble floor reflected their beauty.
She had seen them all before, but her enjoyment repeated it-
self, and it was all the greater because she was glad again, for
the time, to be alone. At last, however, her attention lapsed,
drawn off by a deeper tide of life. An occasional tourist
came in, stopped and stared a moment at the Dying Gladi-
ator, and then passed out of the other door, creaking over
the smooth pavement. At the end of half an hour Gilbert
Osmond reappeared, apparently in advance of his compan-
ions. He strolled toward her slowly, with his hands behind
him and his usual enquiring, yet not quite appealing smile.
‘I’m surprised to find you alone, I thought you had com-
pany.’
‘So I have—the best.’ And she glanced at the Antinous
and the Faun.
‘Do you call them better company than an English
peer?’
‘Ah, my English peer left me some time ago.’ She got up,
speaking with intention a little dryly.
Mr. Osmond noted her dryness, which contributed for
him to the interest of his question. ‘I’m afraid that what I

428 The Portrait of a Lady