216 THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY. Gilbert Osmond came to see Madame Merle, who presented him to the young lady seated almost out of sight at the other end of the room. Isabel, on this occasion, took little share in the conversation ; she scarcely even smiled when the others turned to her appealingly ; but sat there as an impartial auditor of their brilliant discourse. Mrs. Touchett was not present, and these two had it their own way. They talked extremely well j it struck Isabel almost as a dramatic entertainment, rehearsed in advance. Madame Merle referred everything to her, but the girl answered nothing, though she knew that this attitude would make Mr. Osmond think she was one of those dull people who bored him. It was" the worse, too, thai; Madame Merle would have told him she was almost as much above the merely respectable average as he himself, and that she was putting her friend dreadfully in the wrong. But this was no matter, for once ; even if more had depended on it, Isabel could not have made an attempt to shine. There was something in Mr. Osmond that arrested her and held her in suspense made it seem more important that she should get an impression of him than that she should produce one herself. Besides, Isabel had little skill in producing an impression which she knew to be expected ; nothing could be more charming, in general, than to seem dazzling ; but she had a perverse unwill- ingness to perform by arrangement. Mr. Osmond, to do him justice, had a well-bred air of expecting nothing ; he was a quiet gentleman, with a colourless manner, who said elaborate things with a great deal of simplicity. Isabel, however, privately perceived that if he did not expect he observed ; she was very sure he was sensitive. His face, his head was sensitive; he was not handsome, but he was fine, as fine as one of the drawings in the long gallery above the bridge, at the Uffizi. Mr. Osmond was very delicate ; the tone of his voice alone would have proved it. It was the visitor's delicacy that made her abstain from interference. His talk was like the tinkling of glass, and if she had put out her finger she might have changed the pitch and spoiled the concert. Before he went he made an appeal to her. " Madame Merle says she will come up to my hill- top some day next week and drink tea in my garden. It would give me much pleasure if you would come with her. It's thought rather pretty there's what they call a general view. My daughter, too, Jwould be so glad or rather, for she is too young to have strong emotions, I should be so glad so very glad." And Mr. Osmond paused a moment, with a slight air of embarrassment,
