It will probably not surprise the reflective reader that Ralph Touchett should have seen less of his cousin since her marriage than he had done before that event of which he took such a view as could hardly prove a confirmation of intimacy.He had uttered his thought, as we know, and after this had held his peace, Isabel not having invited him to resume a discussion which marked an era in their relations.That discussion had made a difference-the difference he feared rather than the one he hoped.It had not chilled the girl's zeal in carrying out her engagement, but it had come dangerously near to spoiling a friendship.No reference was ever again made between them to Ralph's opinion of Gilbert Osmond, and by surrounding this topic with a sacred silence they managed to preserve a semblance of reciprocal frankness.But there was a difference, as Ralph often said to himself-there was a difference.She had not forgiven him, she never would forgive him: that was all he had gained.She thought she had forgiven him; she believed she didn't care; and as she was both very generous and very proud these convictions represented a certain reality.But whether or no the event should justify him he would virtually have done her a wrong, and the wrong was of the sort that women remember best.As Osmond's wife she could never again be his friend.If in this character she should enjoy the felicity she expected, she would have nothing but contempt for the man who had attempted, in advance, to undermine a blessing so dear;and if on the other hand his warning should be justified the vow she had taken that he should never know it would lay upon her spirit such a burden as to make her hate him.So dismal had been, during the year that followed his cousin's marriage, Ralph's prevision of the future; and if his meditations appear morbid we must remember he was not in the bloom of health.He consoled himself as he might by behaving (as he deemed) beautifully, and was present at the ceremony by which Isabel was united to Mr.Osmond, and which was performed in Florence in the month of June.He learned from his mother that Isabel at first had thought of celebrating her nuptials in her native land, but that as simplicity was what she chiefly desired to secure she had finally decided, in spite of Osmond's professed willingness to make a journey of any length, that this characteristic would be best embodied in their being married by the nearest clergyman in the shortest time.The thing was done therefore at the little American chapel, on a very hot day, in the presence only of Mrs.Touchett and her son, of Pansy Osmond and the Countess Gemini.
That severity in the proceedings of which I just spoke was in part the result of the absence of two persons who might have been looked for on the occasion and who would have lent it a certain richness.Madame Merle had been invited, but Madame Merle, who was unable to leave Rome, had written a gracious letter of excuses.Henrietta Stackpole had not been invited, as her departure from America, announced to Isabel by Mr.Goodwood, was in fact frustrated by the duties of her profession; but she had sent a letter, less gracious than Madame Merle's, intimating that, had she been able to cross the Atlantic, she would have been present not only as a witness but as a critic.Her return to Europe had taken place somewhat later, and she had effected a meeting with Isabel in the autumn, in Paris, when she had indulged-perhaps a trifle too freely-her critical genius.Poor Osmond, who was chiefly the subject of it, had protested so sharply that Henrietta was obliged to declare to Isabel that she had taken a step which put a barrier between them."It isn't in the least that you've married-it is that you have married him," she had deemed it her duty to remark; agreeing, it will be seen, much more with Ralph Touchett than she suspected, though she had few of his hesitations and compunctions.Henrietta's second visit to Europe, however, was not apparently to have been made in vain; for just at the moment when Osmond had declared to Isabel that he really must object to that newspaper-woman, and Isabel had answered that it seemed to her he took Henrietta too hard, the good Mr.Bantling had appeared upon the scene and proposed that they should take a run down to Spain.
Henrietta's letters from Spain had proved the most acceptable she had yet published, and there had been one in especial, dated from the Alhambra and entitled "Moors and Moonlight," which generally passed for her masterpiece.Isabel had been secretly disappointed at her husband's not seeing his way simply to take the poor girl for funny.She even wondered if his sense of fun, or of the funny-which would be his sense of humour, wouldn't it?-were by chance defective.
Of course she herself looked at the matter as a person whose present happiness had nothing to grudge to Henrietta's violated conscience.
Osmond had thought their alliance a kind of monstrosity; he couldn't imagine what they had in common.For him, Mr.Bantling's fellow tourist was simply the most vulgar of women, and he had also pronounced her the most abandoned.Against this latter clause of the verdict Isabel had appealed with an ardour that had made him wonder afresh at the oddity of some of his wife's tastes.Isabel could explain it only by saying that she liked to know people who were as different as possible from herself."Why then don't you make the acquaintance of your washerwoman?" Osmond had enquired; to which Isabel had answered that she was afraid her washerwoman wouldn't care for her.Now Henrietta cared so much.
