Chapter 46 - Page 2

something very base," she returned.

"I accuse you of not being trustworthy. If he doesn't after all
come forward it will be because you've kept him off. I don't know
that it's base: it is the kind of thing a woman always thinks she
may do. I've no doubt you've the finest ideas about it."

"I told you I would do what I could," she went on.

"Yes, that gained you time."

It came over her, after he had said this, that she had once
thought him beautiful. "How much you must want to make sure of
him!" she exclaimed in a moment.

She had no sooner spoken than she perceived the full reach of her
words, of which she had not been conscious in uttering them. They
made a comparison between Osmond and herself, recalled the fact
that she had once held this coveted treasure in her hand and felt
herself rich enough to let it fall. A momentary exultation took
possession of her--a horrible delight in having wounded him; for
his face instantly told her that none of the force of her
exclamation was lost. He expressed nothing otherwise, however; he
only said quickly: "Yes, I want it immensely."

At this moment a servant came in to usher a visitor, and he was
followed the next by Lord Warburton, who received a visible check
on seeing Osmond. He looked rapidly from the master of the house
to the mistress; a movement that seemed to denote a reluctance to
interrupt or even a perception of ominous conditions. Then he
advanced, with his English address, in which a vague shyness
seemed to offer itself as an element of good-breeding; in which
the only defect was a difficulty in achieving transitions. Osmond
was embarrassed; he found nothing to say; but Isabel remarked,
promptly enough, that they had been in the act of talking about
their visitor. Upon this her husband added that they hadn't known
what was become of him--they had been afraid he had gone away.
"No," he explained, smiling and looking at Osmond; "I'm only on
the point of going." And then he mentioned that he found himself
suddenly recalled to England: he should start on the morrow or
the day after. "I'm awfully sorry to leave poor Touchett!" he
ended by exclaiming.

For a moment neither of his companions spoke; Osmond only leaned
back in his chair, listening. Isabel didn't look at him; she
could only fancy how he looked. Her eyes were on their visitor's
face, where they were the more free to rest that those of his
lordship carefully avoided them. Yet Isabel was sure that had she
met his glance she would have found it expressive. "You had
better take poor Touchett with you," she heard her husband say,
lightly enough, in a moment.

"He had better wait for warmer weather," Lord Warburton answered.
"I shouldn't