"My aunt has telegraphed for me; I must go to Gardencourt."
"Why must you go to Gardencourt?" Osmond asked, in the tone of impartial curiosity.
"To see Ralph before he dies."
To this, for some time, Osmond made no rejoinder; he continued to give his chief attention to his work, which was of a sort that would brook no negligence.
"I don't see the need of it," he said at last. "He came to see you here. I didn't like that; I thought his being in Rome a great mistake. But I tolerated it, because it was to be the last time you should see him. Now you tell me it is not to have been the last. Ah, you are not grateful!"
"What am I to be grateful for?"
Gilbert: 0smond laid down his little implements, blew a speck of dust from his drawing, slowly got, up, and for the first time looked at his wife.
"For my not having interfered while he was here."
"Oh yes, I am. I remember perfectly how distinctly you let me know you didn't like it. I was very glad when he went away."
"Leave him alone then. Don't run after him."
Isabel turned her eyes away from him; they rested upon his little drawing.
"I must go to England," she said, with a full consciousness that her tone might strike an irritable man of taste as stupidly obstinate.
"I shall not like it if you do," Osmond remarked.
"Why should I mind that? You won't like it if I don't. You like nothing I do or don't do. You pretend to think I lie."
