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this the aunt and the niece went to breakfast, where Mrs.
Touchett, as good as her word, made no allusion to Gilbert
Osmond. After an interval of silence, however, she asked
her companion from whom she had received a visit an hour
before.
‘From an old friend-an American gentleman,’ Isabel said
with a colour in her cheek.
‘An American gentleman of course. It’s only an Ameri-
can gentleman who calls at ten o’clock in the morning.’
‘It was half-past ten; he was in a great hurry; he goes away
this evening.’
‘Couldn’t he have come yesterday, at the usual time?’
‘He only arrived last night.’
‘He spends but twenty-four hours in Florence?’ Mrs.
Touchett cried. ‘He’s an American gentleman truly.’
‘He is indeed,’ said Isabel, thinking with perverse admi-
ration of what Caspar Goodwood had done for her.
Two days afterward Ralph arrived; but though Isabel was
sure that Mrs. Touchett had lost no time in imparting to
him the great fact, he showed at first no open knowledge
of it. Their prompted talk was naturally of his health; Isa-
bel had many questions to ask about Corfu. She had been
shocked by his appearance when he came into the room; she
had forgotten how ill he looked. In spite of Corfu he looked
very ill to-day, and she wondered if he were really worse or
if she were simply disaccustomed to living with an invalid.
Poor Ralph made no nearer approach to conventional beau-
ty as he advanced in life, and the now apparently complete
loss of his health had done little to mitigate the natural odd-

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