456 THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY. refined idea of introducing one of her intimates to the young girl's fortune. She had naturally chosen her closest intimate, and it was already vivid enough to Isabel that Gilbert Osmond occupied this position. She found herself confronted in this manner with the conviction that the man in the world whom she had supposed to he the least sordid, had married her for her money. Strange to say, it had never before occurred to her ; if she had thought a good deal of harm of Osmond, she had not done him this particular injury. This was the worst she could think of, and she had been saying to herself that the worst was still to come. A man might marry a woman for her money, very well ; the thing was often done. But at least he should let her know ! She wondered whether, if he wanted her money, her money to-day would satisfy him. Would he take her money and let her go 1 Ah, if Mr. Touch ett's great charity would help her to-day, it would be blessed indeed ! It was not slow to occur to her that if Madame Merle had wished to do Osmond a service, his recognition of the fact must have lost its warmth. "What must be his feelings to-day in regard to his too zealous bene- factress, and what expression must they have found on the part of such a master of irony 1 It is a singular, but a characteristic, fact that before Isabel returned from - her silent drive she had broken its silence by the soft exclamation " Poor Madame Merle ! " Her exclamation would perhaps have been justified if on this same afternoon she had been concealed behind one of the valuable curtains of time-softened damask which dressed the interesting little salon of the lady to whom it referred ; the carefully- arranged apartment to which we once paid a visit in company with the discreet Mr. Eosier. In that apartment, towards six o'clock, Gilbert Osmond was seated, and his hostess stood before him as Isabel had seen her stand on an occasion commemorated in this history with an emphasis appropriate not so much to its apparent as to its real importance. " I don't believe you are unhappy ; I believe you like.it," said Madame Merle. "Did I say I was unhappy?" Osmond asked, with a face grave enough to suggest that he might have been so. " No, but you don't say the contrary, as you ought in common gratitude." "Don't talk about gratitude," Osmond returned, dryly. " And don't aggravate me," he added in a moment. Madame Merle slowly seated herself, with her arms folded and her white hands arranged as a support to one of them and an
