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something told him, here was occupation enough for a suc-
cession of days. It may be added, in summary fashion, that
the imagination of loving—as distinguished from that of
being loved—had still a place in his reduced sketch. He had
only forbidden himself the riot of expression. However, he
shouldn’t inspire his cousin with a passion, nor would she
be able, even should she try, to help him to one. ‘And now
tell me about the young lady,’ he said to his mother. ‘What
do you mean to do with her?’
Mrs. Touchett was prompt. ‘I mean to ask your father to
invite her to stay three or four weeks at Gardencourt.’
‘You needn’t stand on any such ceremony as that,’ said
Ralph. ‘My father will ask her as a matter of course.’
‘I don’t know about that. She’s my niece; she’s not his.’
‘Good Lord, dear mother; what a sense of property!
That’s all the more reason for his asking her. But after that—I
mean after three months (for it’s absurd asking the poor girl
to remain but for three or four paltry weeks)—what do you
mean to do with her?’
‘I mean to take her to Paris. I mean to get her clothing.’
‘Ah yes, that’s of course. But independently of that?’
‘I shall invite her to spend the autumn with me in Flor-
ence.’
‘You don’t rise above detail, dear mother,’ said Ralph. ‘I
should like to know what you mean to do with her in a gen-
eral way.’
‘My duty!’ Mrs. Touchett declared. ‘I suppose you pity
her very much,’ she added.
‘No, I don’t think I pity her. She doesn’t strike me as in-

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