nd well-dressed one--Isabel
viewed for some moments with surprise. The lady was of course a visitor
who had arrived during her absence and who had not been mentioned by
either of the servants--one of them her aunt's maid--of whom she had had
speech since her return. Isabel had already learned, however, with
what treasures of reserve the function of receiving orders may be
accompanied, and she was particularly conscious of having been treated
with dryness by her aunt's maid, through whose hands she had slipped
perhaps a little too mistrustfully and with an effect of plumage but
the more lustrous. The advent of a guest was in itself far from
disconcerting; she had not yet divested herself of a young faith that
each new acquaintance would exert some momentous influence on her life.
By the time she had made these reflexions she became aware that the
lady at the piano played remarkably well. She was playing something
of Schubert's--Isabel knew not what, but recognised Schubert--and she
touched the piano with a discretion of her own. It showed skill, it
showed feeling; Isabel sat down noiselessly on the nearest chair and
waited till the end of the piece. When it was finished she felt a strong
desire to thank the player, and rose from her seat to do so, while at
the same time the stranger turned quickly round, as if but just aware of
her presence.

"That's very beautiful, and your playing makes it more beautiful still,"
said Isabel with all the young radiance with which she usually uttered a
truthful rapture.

"You don't think I disturbed Mr. Touchett then?" the musician answered
as sweetly as this compliment deserved. "The house is so large and his
room so far away that I thought I might venture, especially as I played
just--just du bout des doigts."

"She's a Frenchwoman," Isabel said to herself; "she says that as if she
were French." And this supposition made the visitor more interesting to
our speculative heroine. "I hope my uncle's doing well," Isabel added.
"I should think that to hear such lovely music as that would really make
him feel better."

The lady smiled and discriminated. "I'm afraid there are moments in life
when even Schubert has nothing to say to us. We must admit, however,
that they are our worst."

"I'm not in that state now then," said Isabel. "On the contrary I should
be so glad if you would play something more."

"If it will give you pleasure--delighted." And this obliging person took
her place