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183 THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY. 183 his way to the Eiviera, and I have not yet heard from him. But it is not likely he will ever object to anything done by his father." " Didn't you say his own share had been cut down 1 " " Only at his wish. I know that he urged his father to do something for the people in America. He is not in the least addicted to looking after number one." " It depends upon whom he regards as number one ! " said Madame Merle. And she remained thoughtful a moment, with her eyes bent upon the floor. " Am I not to see your happy niece ? " she asked at last, looking up. " You may see her ; but you will not be struck with her being happy. She has looked as solemn, these three days, as a Cimabue Madonna ! " And Mrs. Touchett rang for a servant. Isabel came in shortly after the footman had been sent to call her ; and Madame Merle thought, as she appeared, that Mrs. Touchett's comparison had its force. The girl was pale and grave an effect not mitigated by her deeper mourning ; but the smile of her brightest moments came into her face as she saw Madame Merle, who went forward, laid her hand on our heroine's shoulder, and after looking at her a moment, kissed her as if she were returning the kiss that she had received from Isabel at Gardencourt. This was the only allusion that Madame Merle, in her great good taste, made for the present to her young friend's inheritance. Mrs. Touchett did not remain in London until she had sold her house. After selecting from among its furniture those objects which she wished to transport to her Florentine residence, she left the rest of its contents to be disposed of by the auctioneer, and took her departure for the Continent. She was, of course, accompanied on this journey by her niece, who now had plenty of leisure to contemplate the windfall on which Madame Merle had covertly congratulated her. Isabel thought of it very often and looked at it in a dozen different lights ; bufc we shall not at present attempt to enter into her meditations or to explain why it was that some of them were of a rather pessimistic cast. The pessimism of tins young lady was tran- sient ; she ultimately made up her mind that to be rich was a virtue, because it was to be able to do, and to do was sweet. It was the contrary of weakness. To be weak was, for a young lady, rather graceful, but, after all, as Isabel said to herself, there was a larger grace than that. Just now, it is true, there was not much to do once she had sent off a cheque to Lily and another to poor Edith ; but she was thankful for the quiet