the place
empty; but in the course of a moment Ralph arrived. His anxiety about
his father had been lightened; Sir Matthew Hope's view of his condition
was less depressed than his own had been. The doctor recommended that
the nurse alone should remain with the old man for the next three or
four hours; so that Ralph, his mother and the great physician himself
were free to dine at table. Mrs. Touchett and Sir Matthew appeared;
Madame Merle was the last.

Before she came Isabel spoke of her to Ralph, who was standing before
the fireplace. "Pray who is this Madame Merle?"

"The cleverest woman I know, not excepting yourself," said Ralph.

"I thought she seemed very pleasant."

"I was sure you'd think her very pleasant."

"Is that why you invited her?"

"I didn't invite her, and when we came back from London I didn't know
she was here. No one invited her. She's a friend of my mother's, and
just after you and I went to town my mother got a note from her. She had
arrived in England (she usually lives abroad, though she has first and
last spent a good deal of time here), and asked leave to come down for
a few days. She's a woman who can make such proposals with perfect
confidence; she's so welcome wherever she goes. And with my mother there
could be no question of hesitating; she's the one person in the world
whom my mother very much admires. If she were not herself (which she
after all much prefers), she would like to be Madame Merle. It would
indeed be a great change."

"Well, she's very charming," said Isabel. "And she plays beautifully."

"She does everything beautifully. She's complete."

Isabel looked at her cousin a moment. "You don't like her."

"On the contrary, I was once in love with her."

"And she didn't care for you, and that's why you don't like her."

"How can we have discussed such things? Monsieur Merle was then living."

"Is he dead now?"

"So she says."

"Don't you believe her?"

"Yes, because the statement agrees with the probabilities. The husband
of Madame Merle would be likely to pass away."

Isabel gazed at her cousin again. "I don't know what you mean. You mean
something--that you don't mean. What was Monsieur Merle?"

"The husband of Madame."

"You're very odious. Has she any children?"

"Not the least little child--fortunately."

"Fortunately?"

"I mean fortunately for the child. She'd be sure to spoil it."

Isabel was apparently on the point of assuring her cousin for th