"But you'll have a lot of people with you."
"Ah," Isabel admitted, "of course I shall not be alone."
For a moment he said nothing more.
"You'll like it," he went on, at last. "They have spoiled it, but you'll like it."
"Ought I to dislike it, because it's spoiled?" she asked.
"No, I think not. It has been spoiled so often. If I were to go, what should I do with my little girl?"
"Can't you leave her at the villa?"
"I don't know that I like that—though there is a very good old woman who looks after her. I can't afford a governess."
"Bring her with you, then," said Isabel, smiling.
Mr. Osmond looked grave.
"She has been in Rome all winter, at her convent; and she is too young to make journeys of pleasure."
"You don't like bringing her forward?" Isabel suggested.
"No, I think young girls should be kept out of the world."
"I was brought up on a different system."
"You? Oh, with you it succeeded, because you—you were exceptional."
"I don't see why," said Isabel, who, however, was not sure there was not some truth in the speech.
Mr. Osmond did not explain; he simply went on. "If I thought it would make her resemble you to join a social group in Rome, I would take her there to-morrow."
"Don't make her resemble me," said Isabel; "keep her like herself."
"I might send her to my sister," Mr. Osmond suggested. He had almost the air of asking advice; he seemed to like to talk over his domestic matters with Isabel.
