"Did he say anything else?"
"Ah, my dear, he doesn't chatter as he used!" cried Mrs. Touchett as she preceded her niece up the staircase.
It was the same room, and something told Isabel it had not been slept in since she occupied it. Her luggage was there and was not voluminous; Mrs.Touchett sat down a moment with her eyes upon it. "Is there really no hope?" our young woman asked as she stood before her.
"None whatever. There never has been. It has not been a successful life."
"No—it has only been a beautiful one." Isabel found herself already contradicting her aunt; she was irritated by her dryness.
