Chapter 51 - Page 2

glass. "He was dying when we married; he'll
outlive us all."

Isabel gave herself no time, no thought, to appreciate the
careful cynicism of this declaration; she simply went on quickly,
full of her own intention "My aunt has telegraphed for me; I must
go to Gardencourt."

"Why must you go to Gardencourt?" Osmond asked in the tone of
impartial curiosity.

"To see Ralph before he dies."

To this, for some time, he made no rejoinder; he continued to
give his chief attention to his work, which was of a sort that
would brook no negligence. "I don't see the need of it," he said
at last. "He came to see you here. I didn't like that; I thought
his being in Rome a great mistake. But I tolerated it because it
was to be the last time you should see him. Now you tell me it's
not to have been the last. Ah, you're not grateful!"

"What am I to be grateful for?"

Gilbert Osmond laid down his little implements, blew a speck of
dust from his drawing, slowly got up, and for the first time
looked at his wife. "For my not having interfered while he was
here."

"Oh yes, I am. I remember perfectly how distinctly you let me
know you didn't like it. I was very glad when he went away."

"Leave him alone then. Don't run after him."

Isabel turned her eyes away from him; they rested upon his little
drawing. "I must go to England," she said, with a full
consciousness that her tone might strike an irritable man of
taste as stupidly obstinate.

"I shall not like it if you do," Osmond remarked.

"Why should I mind that? You won't like it if I don't. You like
nothing I do or don't do. You pretend to think I lie."

Osmond turned slightly pale; he gave a cold smile. "That's why
you must go then? Not to see your cousin, but to take a revenge
on me."

"I know nothing about revenge."

"I do," said Osmond. "Don't give me an occasion."

"You're only too eager to take one. You wish immensely that I
would commit some folly."

"I should be gratified in that case if you disobeyed me."

"If I disobeyed you?" said Isabel in a low tone which had the
effect of mildness.

"Let it be clear. If you leave Rome to-day it will be a piece of
the most deliberate, the most calculated, opposition."

"How can you call it calculated? I received my aunt's telegram
but three minutes ago."

"You calculate rapidly; it's a great accomplishment. I don't see
why we should prolong our discussion; you know my wish." And he
stood there as if he expected to see her withdraw.

But she never moved; she couldn't move, strange as it may seem;
she still wished to justify herself; he had the power, in an
extraordinary degree, of making her feel