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ing the world’s curiosity and then declining to satisfy it. It
had made him feel great, ever, to play the world a trick. The
thing he had done in his life most directly to please himself
was his marrying Miss Archer; though in this case indeed
the gullible world was in a manner embodied in poor Isa-
bel, who had been mystified to the top of her bent. Ralph of
course found a fitness in being consistent; he had embraced
a creed, and as he had suffered for it he could not in honour
forsake it. I give this little sketch of its articles for what they
may at the time have been worth. It was certain that he was
very skilful in fitting the facts to his theory-even the fact
that during the month he spent in Rome at this period the
husband of the woman he loved appeared to regard him not
in the least as an enemy.
For Gilbert Osmond Ralph had not now that impor-
tance. It was not that he had the importance of a friend;
it was rather that he had none at all. He was Isabel’s cous-
in and he was rather unpleasantly ill-it was on this basis
that Osmond treated with him. He made the proper enqui-
ries, asked about his health, about Mrs. Touchett, about his
opinion of winter climates, whether he were comfortable at
his hotel. He addressed him, on the few occasions of their
meeting, not a word that was not necessary; but his manner
had always the urbanity proper to conscious success in the
presence of conscious failure. For all this, Ralph had had,
toward the end, a sharp inward vision of Osmond’s mak-
ing it of small ease to his wife that she should continue to
receive Mr. Touchett. He was not jealous-he had not that ex-
cuse; no one could be jealous of Ralph. But he made Isabel

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