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Chapter 5

Ralph Touchett was a philosopher, but nevertheless he
knocked at his mother’s door (at a quarter to seven) with a
good deal of eagerness. Even philosophers have their pref-
erences, and it must be admitted that of his progenitors his
father ministered most to his sense of the sweetness of fil-
ial dependence. His father, as he had often said to himself,
was the more motherly; his mother, on the other hand, was
paternal, and even, according to the slang of the day, guber-
natorial. She was nevertheless very fond of her only child
and had always insisted on his spending three months of
the year with her. Ralph rendered perfect justice to her af-
fection and knew that in her thoughts and her thoroughly
arranged and servanted life his turn always came after the
other nearest subjects of her solicitude, the various punctu-
alities of performance of the workers of her will. He found
her completely dressed for dinner, but she embraced her
boy with her gloved hands and made him sit on the sofa
beside her. She enquired scrupulously about her husband’s
health and about the young man’s own, and, receiving no
very brilliant account of either, remarked that she was more
than ever convinced of her wisdom in not exposing herself
to the English climate. In this case she also might have giv-
en way. Ralph smiled at the idea of his mother’s giving way,
but made no point of reminding her that his own infirmity

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