, speaking with
intention a little dryly.

Mr. Osmond noted her dryness, which contributed for him to the interest
of his question. "I'm afraid that what I heard the other evening is
true: you're rather cruel to that nobleman."

Isabel looked a moment at the vanquished Gladiator. "It's not true. I'm
scrupulously kind."

"That's exactly what I mean!" Gilbert Osmond returned, and with such
happy hilarity that his joke needs to be explained. We know that he was
fond of originals, of rarities, of the superior and the exquisite; and
now that he had seen Lord Warburton, whom he thought a very fine example
of his race and order, he perceived a new attraction in the idea of
taking to himself a young lady who had qualified herself to figure in
his collection of choice objects by declining so noble a hand. Gilbert
Osmond had a high appreciation of this particular patriciate; not so
much for its distinction, which he thought easily surpassable, as for
its solid actuality. He had never forgiven his star for not appointing
him to an English dukedom, and he could measure the unexpectedness of
such conduct as Isabel's. It would be proper that the woman he might
marry should have done something of that sort.

CHAPTER XXIX

Ralph Touchett, in talk with his excellent friend, had rather markedly
qualified, as we know, his recognition of Gilbert Osmond's personal
merits; but he might really have felt himself illiberal in the light of
that gentleman's conduct during the rest of the visit to Rome. Osmond
spent a portion of each day with Isabel and her companions, and ended
by affecting them as the easiest of men to live with. Who wouldn't have
seen that he could command, as it were, both tact and gaiety?--which
perhaps was exactly why Ralph had made his old-time look of superficial
sociability a reproach to him. Even Isabel's invidious kinsman was
obliged to admit that he was just now a delightful associate. His
good humour was imperturbable, his knowledge of the right fact, his
production of the right word, as convenient as the friendly flicker of
a match for your cigarette. Clearly he was amused--as amused as a man
could be who was so little ever surprised, and that made him almost
applausive. It was not that his spirits were visibly high--he would
never, in the concert of pleasure, touch the big drum by so much as a
knuckle: he had a mortal dislike to the high, ragged note, to what
he called random ravings. He thought Miss Arche