of his
sincerity; and at this moment, as at others, she had a sufficient
perception of the sources of Osmond's opposition. He wished her to have
no freedom of mind, and he knew perfectly well that Ralph was an apostle
of freedom. It was just because he was this, Isabel said to herself,
that it was a refreshment to go and see him. It will be perceived that
she partook of this refreshment in spite of her husband's aversion to
it, that is partook of it, as she flattered herself, discreetly. She had
not as yet undertaken to act in direct opposition to his wishes; he was
her appointed and inscribed master; she gazed at moments with a sort
of incredulous blankness at this fact. It weighed upon her imagination,
however; constantly present to her mind were all the traditionary
decencies and sanctities of marriage. The idea of violating them filled
her with shame as well as with dread, for on giving herself away she had
lost sight of this contingency in the perfect belief that her husband's
intentions were as generous as her own. She seemed to see, none the
less, the rapid approach of the day when she should have to take back
something she had solemnly bestown. Such a ceremony would be odious and
monstrous; she tried to shut her eyes to it meanwhile. Osmond would do
nothing to help it by beginning first; he would put that burden upon her
to the end. He had not yet formally forbidden her to call upon Ralph;
but she felt sure that unless Ralph should very soon depart this
prohibition would come. How could poor Ralph depart? The weather as yet
made it impossible. She could perfectly understand her husband's wish
for the event; she didn't, to be just, see how he COULD like her to be
with her cousin. Ralph never said a word against him, but Osmond's
sore, mute protest was none the less founded. If he should positively
interpose, if he should put forth his authority, she would have to
decide, and that wouldn't be easy. The prospect made her heart beat and
her cheeks burn, as I say, in advance; there were moments when, in her
wish to avoid an open rupture, she found herself wishing Ralph would
start even at a risk. And it was of no use that, when catching herself
in this state of mind, she called herself a feeble spirit, a coward.
It was not that she loved Ralph less, but that almost anything seemed
preferable to repudiating the most serious act--the single sacred
act--of her life. That appeared to make the whole future hideous.
To brea