deeper, the
deepest, consciousness of his look, which gradually became more serious.
"I'm really very glad to see you."

"It's very pleasant. You're very kind."

"Do you know that you're changed--a little?"

She just hesitated. "Yes--a good deal."

"I don't mean for the worse, of course; and yet how can I say for the
better?"

"I think I shall have no scruple in saying that to YOU," she bravely
returned.

"Ah well, for me--it's a long time. It would be a pity there shouldn't
be something to show for it." They sat down and she asked him about
his sisters, with other enquiries of a somewhat perfunctory kind. He
answered her questions as if they interested him, and in a few moments
she saw--or believed she saw--that he would press with less of his
whole weight than of yore. Time had breathed upon his heart and, without
chilling it, given it a relieved sense of having taken the air. Isabel
felt her usual esteem for Time rise at a bound. Her friend's manner was
certainly that of a contented man, one who would rather like people, or
like her at least, to know him for such. "There's something I must tell
you without more delay," he resumed. "I've brought Ralph Touchett with
me."

"Brought him with you?" Isabel's surprise was great.

"He's at the hotel; he was too tired to come out and has gone to bed."

"I'll go to see him," she immediately said.

"That's exactly what I hoped you'd do. I had an idea you hadn't seen
much of him since your marriage, that in fact your relations were a--a
little more formal. That's why I hesitated--like an awkward Briton."

"I'm as fond of Ralph as ever," Isabel answered. "But why has he come to
Rome?" The declaration was very gentle, the question a little sharp.

"Because he's very far gone, Mrs. Osmond."

"Rome then is no place for him. I heard from him that he had determined
to give up his custom of wintering abroad and to remain in England,
indoors, in what he called an artificial climate."

"Poor fellow, he doesn't succeed with the artificial! I went to see him
three weeks ago, at Gardencourt, and found him thoroughly ill. He has
been getting worse every year, and now he has no strength left. He
smokes no more cigarettes! He had got up an artificial climate indeed;
the house was as hot as Calcutta. Nevertheless he had suddenly taken it
into his head to start for Sicily. I didn't believe in it--neither did
the doctors, nor any of his friends. His mother, as I suppose you know,