Page 558 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

pay for her old-time kindness, of which so much was still
left; and as Ralph had no idea of her paying too much, so
when his suspicion had become sharp, he had taken himself
off. In doing so he had deprived Isabel of a very interesting
occupation: she had been constantly wondering what fine
principle was keeping him alive. She had decided that it was
his love of conversation; his conversation had been better
than ever. He had given up walking; he was no longer a hu-
morous stroller. He sat all day in a chair-almost any chair
would serve, and was so dependent on what you would do
for him that, had not his talk been highly contemplative,
you might have thought he was blind. The reader already
knows more about him than Isabel was ever to know, and
the reader may therefore be given the key to the mystery.
What kept Ralph alive was simply the fact that he had
not yet seen enough of the person in the world in whom
he was most interested: he was not yet satisfied. There was
more to come; he couldn’t make up his mind to lose that.
He wanted to see what she would make of her husband-or
what her husband would make of her. This was only the first
act of the drama, and he was determined to sit out the per-
formance. His determination had held good; it had kept
him going some eighteen months more, till the time of his
return to Rome with Lord Warburton. It had given him in-
deed such an air of intending to live indefinitely that Mrs.
Touchett, though more accessible to confusions of thought
in the matter of this strange, unremunerativeand unremu-
nerated—son of hers than she had ever been before, had, as
we have learned, not scrupled to embark for a distant land.

558 The Portrait of a Lady