pressions. The golden sunshine mingles with them, the great stillness of the past, so vivid yet, though it is nothing but a void full of names, seems to throw a solemn spell upon them. The blinds were partly closed in the windows of the Capitol, and a clear, warm shadow rested on the figures and made them more perfectly human. Isabel sat there a long time, under the charm of their motionless grace, seeing life between their gazing eyelids and purpose in their marble lips. The dark red walls of the room threw them into relief; the polished marble floor reflected their beauty. She had seen them all before, but her enjoyment repeated itself, and it was all the greater because she was glad, for the time, to be alone. At the last her thoughts wandered away from them, solicited by images of a vitality more complete. An occasional tourist came into the room, stopped and stared a moment at the Dying Gladiator, and then passed out of the other door, creaking over the smooth pavement. At the end of half-an-hour Gilbert Osmond reappeared, apparently in advance of his companions. He strolled towards her slowly, with his hands behind him, and with his usual bright, inquiring, yet not appealing smile.
"I am surprised to find you alone," he said. "I thought you had company."
"So I have—the best." And Isabel glanced at the circle of sculpture.
"Do you call this better company than an English peer?"
"Ah, my English peer left me some time ago," said Isabel, getting up. She spoke, with intention, a little dryly.
Mr. Osmond noted her dryness, but it did not prevent him from giving a laugh.
"I am afraid that what I heard the other evening is true; you are rather cruel to that nobleman."
