Mr.Osmond has never scrambled nor struggled he has cared for no worldly prize.If that's to be narrow, if that's to be selfish, then it's very well.I'm not frightened by such words, I'm not even displeased; I'm only sorry that you should make a mistake.Others might have done so, but I'm surprised that you should.You might know a gentleman when you see one-you might know a fine mind.Mr.
Osmond makes no mistakes! He knows everything, he understands everything, he has the kindest, gentlest, highest spirit.You've got hold of some false idea.It's a pity, but I can't help it; it regards you more than me." Isabel paused a moment, looking at her cousin with an eye illumined by a sentiment which contradicted the careful calmness of her manner-a mingled sentiment, to which the angry pain excited by his words and the wounded pride of having needed to justify a choice of which she felt only the nobleness and purity, equally contributed.Though she paused Ralph said nothing; he saw she had more to say.She was grand, but she was highly solicitous; she was indifferent, but she was all in a passion."What sort of a person should you have liked me to marry?" she asked suddenly."You talk about one's soaring and sailing, but if one marries at all one touches the earth.One has human feelings and needs, one has a heart in one's bosom, and one must marry a particular individual.Your mother has never forgiven me for not having come to a better understanding with Lord Warburton, and she's horrified at my contenting myself with a person who has none of his great advantages-no property, no title, no honours, no houses, nor lands, nor position, nor reputation, nor brilliant belongings of any sort.
It's the total absence of all these things that pleases me.Mr.
Osmond's simply a very lonely, a very cultivated and a very honest man-he's not a prodigious proprietor."Ralph had listened with great attention, as if everything she said merited deep consideration; but in truth he was only half thinking of the things she said, he was for the rest simply accommodating himself to the weight of his total impression-the impression of her ardent good faith.She was wrong, but she believed; she was deluded, but she was dismally consistent.It was wonderfully characteristic of her that, having invented a fine theory about Gilbert Osmond, she loved him not for what he really possessed, but for his very poverties dressed out as honours.Ralph remembered what be had said to his father about wishing to put it into her power to meet the requirements of her imagination.He had done so, and the girl had taken full advantage of luxury.Poor Ralph felt sick; he felt ashamed.Isabel had uttered her last words with a low solemnity of conviction which virtually terminated the discussion, and she closed it formally by turning away and walking back to the house.Ralph walked beside her, and they passed into the court together and reached the big staircase.
Here he stopped and Isabel paused, turning on him a face of elation-absolutely and perversely of gratitude.His opposition had made her own conception of her conduct clearer to her."Shall you not come up to breakfast?" she asked.
"No; I want no breakfast; I'm not hungry.""You ought to eat," said the girl; "you live on air.""I do, very much, and I shall go back into the garden and take another mouthful.I came thus far simply to say this.I told you last year that if you were to get into trouble I should feel terribly sold.That's how I feel to-day.""Do you think I'm in trouble?"
"One's in trouble when one's in error."
"Very well," said Isabel; "I shall never complain of my trouble to you!
And she moved up the staircase.
Ralph, standing there with his hands in his pockets followed her with his eyes; then the lurking chill of the high-walled court struck him and made him shiver, so that he returned to the garden to breakfast on the Florentine sunshine.