e to develop."

"Oh Moses!" Edmund Ludlow exclaimed. "I hope she isn't going to develop
any more!"

"If I were not sure you only said that for argument I should feel very
badly," his wife replied. "But you know you love her."

"Do you know I love you?" the young man said, jocosely, to Isabel a
little later, while he brushed his hat.

"I'm sure I don't care whether you do or not!" exclaimed the girl; whose
voice and smile, however, were less haughty than her words.

"Oh, she feels so grand since Mrs. Touchett's visit," said her sister.

But Isabel challenged this assertion with a good deal of seriousness.
"You must not say that, Lily. I don't feel grand at all."

"I'm sure there's no harm," said the conciliatory Lily.

"Ah, but there's nothing in Mrs. Touchett's visit to make one feel
grand."

"Oh," exclaimed Ludlow, "she's grander than ever!"

"Whenever I feel grand," said the girl, "it will be for a better
reason."

Whether she felt grand or no, she at any rate felt different, as if
something had happened to her. Left to herself for the evening she sat
a while under the lamp, her hands empty, her usual avocations unheeded.
Then she rose and moved about the room, and from one room to another,
preferring the places where the vague lamplight expired. She was
restless and even agitated; at moments she trembled a little. The
importance of what had happened was out of proportion to its appearance;
there had really been a change in her life. What it would bring with it
was as yet extremely indefinite; but Isabel was in a situation that gave
a value to any change. She had a desire to leave the past behind her
and, as she said to herself, to begin afresh. This desire indeed was not
a birth of the present occasion; it was as familiar as the sound of the
rain upon the window and it had led to her beginning afresh a great many
times. She closed her eyes as she sat in one of the dusky corners of the
quiet parlour; but it was not with a desire for dozing forgetfulness. It
was on the contrary because she felt too wide-eyed and wished to check
the sense of seeing too many things at once. Her imagination was by
habit ridiculously active; when the door was not open it jumped out of
the window. She was not accustomed indeed to keep it behind bolts; and
at important moments, when she would have been thankful to make use
of her judgement alone, she paid the penalty of having given undue
encouragement to the faculty of seeing w