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had been travelling half the day she appeared in no degree
spent. She was really tired; she knew it, and knew she should
pay for it on the morrow; but it was her habit at this period
to carry exhaustion to the furtherest point and confess to it
only when dissimulation broke down. A fine hypocrisy was
for the present possible; she was interested; she was, as she
said to herself, floated. She asked Ralph to show her the pic-
tures; there were a great many in the house, most of them of
his own choosing. The best were arranged in an oaken gal-
lery, of charming proportions, which had a sitting-room at
either end of it and which in the evening was usually lighted.
The light was insufficient to show the pictures to advantage,
and the visit might have stood over to the morrow. This
suggestion Ralph had ventured to make; but Isabel looked
disappointedsmiling still, however—and said: ‘If you please
I should like to see them just a little.’ She was eager, she
knew she was eager and now seemed so; she couldn’t help
it. ‘She doesn’t take suggestions,’ Ralph said to himself; but
he said it without irritation; her pressure amused and even
pleased him. The lamps were on brackets, at intervals, and
if the light was imperfect it was genial. It fell upon the vague
squares of rich colour and on the faded gilding of heavy
frames; it made a sheen on the polished floor of the gal-
lery. Ralph took a candlestick and moved about, pointing
out the things he liked; Isabel, inclining to one picture after
another, indulged in little exclamations and murmurs. She
was evidently a judge; she had a natural taste; he was struck
with that. She took a candlestick herself and held it slowly
here and there; she lifted it high, and as she did so he found

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