Oh, I know you're sorry to leave it; but you're right to do what your aunt wishes. Ralph was making arrangements for the morrow's journey, and Isabel sat alone in a wilderness of yellow upholstery. You're angry, sometimes--that I can believe, though I've never seen it. He took his pleasures in general singly; he was too often--he would have admitted that--too sorely aware of something wrong, something ugly; the fertilising dew of a conceivable felicity too seldom descended on his spirit. But I'm horrid when I'm tired," Isabel added with due inconsequence. The tears came into her eyes: this time they obeyed the sharpness of the pang that suggested to her somehow the slipping of a fine bolt--backward, forward, she couldn't have said which. You're quite wrong in your theory that I laugh at you. Then he got up and came near her, deeply respectful, as if he were afraid he had been too familiar. Ralph Touchett, in talk with his excellent friend, had rather markedly qualified, as we know, his recognition of Gilbert Osmond's personal merits; but he might really have felt himself illiberal in the light of that gentleman's conduct during the rest of the visit to Rome.