"Your believing me is an immense temptation," Isabel replied, smiling still.
"A temptation to lie? I don't recommend you to do that, for when I'm misinformed I'm as dangerous as a poisoned rat. I don't mean to crow over you."
"It is my husband that doesn't get on with me," said Isabel.
"I could have told him that. I don't call that crowing over you," Mrs. Touchett added. "Do you still like Serena Merle?" she went on.
"Not as I once did. But it doesn't matter, for she is going to America."
"To America? She must have done something very bad."
"Yes—very bad."
"May I ask what it is?"
"She made a convenience of me."
"Ah," cried Mrs. Touchett, "so she did of me! She does of every one."
"She will make a convenience of America," said Isabel, smiling again, and glad that her aunt's questions were over.
It was not till the evening that she was able to see Ralph. He had been dozing all day; at least he had been lying unconscious. The doctor was there, but after a while he went away; the local doctor, who had attended his father, and whom Ralph liked. He came three or four times a day; he was deeply interested in his patient. Ralph had had Sir Matthew Hope, but he had got tired of this celebrated man, to whom he had asked his mother to send word that he was now dead, and was therefore without further need of medical advice. Mrs. Touchett had simply written to Sir Matthew that her son disliked him. On the day of Isabel's arrival Ralph gave no sign, as I have related, for many hours; but towards evening he raised himself
