474 THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY. countenance an expressive grimace ; but this rapid, picturesque play of feature was her only tribute to disappointment. After all, she reflected, the game was almost played out; she had already overstayed her invitation. And then she cared enough for Isabel's trouble to forget her own, and she saw that Isabel's trouble was deep. It seemed deeper than the mere death of a cousin, and the Countess had no hesitation in connecting her exasperating brother with the expression of her sister-in-law's eyes. Her heart beat with an almost joyous expectation ; for if she had wished to see Osmond overtopped, the conditions looked favourable now. Of course, if Isabel should go to England, she herself would immediately leave the Palazzo Roccanera; nothing would induce her to remain there with Osmond. Nevertheless she felt an immense desire to hear that Isabel would go to England. " Nothing is impossible for you, my dear," she said, caressingly. " Why else are you rich and clever and good ? " " Why indeed ] I feel stupidly weak." "Why does Osmond say it's impossible 1 " the Countess asked, in a tone which sufficiently declared that she couldn't imagine. From the moment that she began to question her, however, Isabel drew back ; she disengaged her hand, which the Countess had affectionately taken. But she answered this inquiry with frank bitterness. " Because we are so happy together that we cannot separate even for a fortnight." " Ah," cried the Countess, while Isabel turned "B way ; " when I want to make a journey my husband simply tells me I can have no money ! " Isabel went to her room, where she walked up and down for an hour. It may seem to some readers that she took things very hard, and it is certain that for a woman of a high spirit she had allowed herself easily to be arrested. It seemed to her, that only now she fully measured the great undertaking of matrimony. Marriage meant that in such a case as this, when one had to choose, one chose as a matter of course for one's husband. " I am afraid yes, I am afraid," she said to herself more than once, stopping short in her walk. But what she was afraid of was not her husband his displeasure, his hatred, his revenge ; it was not even her own later judgment of her conduct a con- sideration which had often held her in check ; it was simply the violence there would be in going when Osmond wished her to remain. A gulf of difference had opened between them, but nevertheless it was his desire that she should stay, it was a
