flatter myself that I’m rather stout, but if I must tell you the truth I’ve been shockingly chipped and cracked. I do very well for service yet, because I’ve been cleverly mended; and I try to remain in the cupboard—the quiet, dusky cupboard where there’s an odour of stale spices—as much as I can. But when I’ve to come out and into a strong light—then, my dear, I’m a horror!’

I know not whether it was on this occasion or on some other that when the conversation had taken the turn I have just indicated she said to Isabel that she would some day a tale unfold. Isabel assured her she should delight to listen to one, and reminded her more than once of this engagement. Madame Merle, however, begged repeatedly for a respite, and at last frankly told her young companion that they must wait till they knew each other better. This would be sure to happen; a long friendship so visibly lay before them. Isabel assented, but at the same time enquired if she mightn’t be trusted—if she appeared capable of a betrayal of confidence.

‘It’s not that I’m afraid of your repeating what I say,’ her fellow visitor answered; ‘I’m afraid, on the contrary, of your taking it too much to yourself. You’d judge me too harshly; you’re of the cruel age.’ She preferred for the present to talk to Isabel of Isabel, and exhibited the greatest interest in our heroine’s history, sentiments, opinions, prospects. She made her chatter and listened to her chatter with infinite good nature. This flattered and quickened the girl, who was struck with all the distinguished people her friend had known and with her having lived, as Mrs Touchett said, in the best company in Europe. Isabel thought the better of herself for enjoying the favour of a person who had so large a field of comparison; and it was perhaps partly to gratify the sense of profiting by comparison that she often appealed to these stores of reminiscence. Madame Merle had been a dweller in many lands and had social ties in a dozen different countries. ‘I don’t pretend to be educated,’ she would say, ‘but I think I know my Europe;’ and she spoke one day of going to Sweden to stay with an old friend, and another of proceeding to Malta to follow up a new acquaintance. With England, where she had often dwelt, she was thoroughly familiar, and for Isabel’s benefit threw a great deal of light upon the customs of the country and the character of the people, who ‘after all’, as she was fond of saying, were the most convenient in the world to live with.

‘You mustn’t think it strange her remaining here at such a time as this, when Mr Touchett’s passing away,’ that gentleman’s wife remarked to her niece. ‘She is incapable of a mistake; she’s the most tactful woman I know. It’s a favour to me that she stays; she’s putting off a lot of visits at great houses,’ said Mrs Touchett, who never forgot that when she herself was in England her social value sank two or three degrees in the scale. ‘She has her pick of places; she’s not in want of a shelter. But I’ve asked her to put in this time because I wish you to know her. I think it will be a good thing for you. Serena Merle hasn’t a fault.’

‘If I didn’t already like her very much that description might alarm me,’ Isabel returned.

‘She’s never the least little bit “off”. I’ve brought you out here and I wish to do the best for you. Your sister Lily told me she hoped I would give you plenty of opportunities. I give you one in putting you in relation with Madame Merle. She’s one of the most brilliant women in Europe.’

‘I like her better than I like your description of her,’ Isabel persisted in saying.

‘Do you flatter yourself that you’ll ever feel her open to criticism? I hope you’ll let me know when you do.’

‘That will be cruel—to you,’ said Isabel.

‘You needn’t mind me. You won’t discover a fault in her.’

‘Perhaps not. But I dare say I shan’t miss it.’

‘She knows absolutely everything on earth there is to know,’ said Mrs Touchett.