of the Caesars. At this juncture Ralph had the happy idea of proposing to Isabel that she also, under his own escort, should make a pilgrimage to Rome. She expected to pass a portion of the next winter there—that was very well; but meantime there was no harm in surveying the field. There were ten days left of the beautiful month of May—the most precious month of all to the true Rome-lover. Isabel would become a Rome-lover; that was a foregone conclusion. She was provided with a trusty companion of her own sex, whose society, thanks to the fact of other calls on this lady’s attention, would probably not be oppressive. Madame Merle would remain with Mrs Touchett; she had left Rome for the summer and wouldn’t care to return. She professed herself delighted to be left at peace in Florence; she had locked up her apartment and sent her cook home to Palestrina. She urged Isabel, however, to assent to Ralph’s proposal, and assured her that a good introduction to Rome was not a thing to be despised. Isabel in truth needed no urging, and the party of four arranged its little journey. Mrs Touchett, on this occasion, had resigned herself to the absence of a duenna;5 we have seen that she now inclined to the belief that her niece should stand alone. One of Isabel’s preparations consisted of her seeing Gilbert Osmond before she started and mentioning her intention to him.
‘I should like to be in Rome with you,’ he commented. ‘I should like to see you on that wonderful ground.’
She scarcely faltered. ‘You might come then.’
‘But you’ll have a lot of people with you.’
‘Ah,’ Isabel admitted, ‘of course I shall not be alone.’
For a moment he said nothing more. ‘You’ll like it,’ he went on at last. ‘They’ve spoiled it, but you’ll rave about it.’
‘Ought I to dislike it because, poor old dear—the Niobe of Nations,6 you know—it has been spoiled?’ she asked.
‘No, I think not. It has been spoiled so often,’ he smiled. ‘If I were to go, what should I do with my little girl?’
‘Can’t you leave her at the villa?’
‘I don’t know that I like that—though there’s a very good old woman who looks after her. I can’t afford a governess.’
‘Bring her with you then,’ said Isabel promptly.
Mr Osmond looked grave. ‘She has been in Rome all winter, at her convent; and she’s too young to make journeys of pleasure.’
‘You don’t like bringing her forward?’ Isabel enquired.
‘No, I think young girls should be kept out of the world.’
‘I was brought up on a different system.’
‘You? Oh, with you it succeeded, because you—you were exceptional.’
‘I don’t see why,’ said Isabel, who, however, was not sure there was not some truth in the speech.
Mr Osmond didn’t explain; he simply went on: ‘If I thought it would make her resemble you to join a social group in Rome I’d take her there to-morrow.’
‘Don’t make her resemble me,’ said Isabel. ‘Keep her like herself.’