The advent of a guest was in itself far from disconcerting; she
had not yet divested herself of a young faith that each new
acquaintance would exert some momentous influence on her life. By
the time she had made these reflexions she became aware that the
lady at the piano played remarkably well. She was playing something of
Schubert's- Isabel knew not what, but recognized Schubert- and she
touched the piano with a discretion of her own. It showed skill, it
showed feeling; Isabel sat down noiselessly on the nearest chair and
waited till the end of the piece. When it was finished she felt a
strong desire to thank the player, and rose from her seat to do so,
while at the same time the stranger turned quickly round, as if but
just aware of her presence.
"That's very beautiful, and your playing makes it more beautiful
still," said Isabel with all the young radiance with which she usually
uttered a truthful rapture.
"You don't think I disturbed Mr. Touchett then?" the musician
answered as sweetly as this compliment deserved. "The house is so
large and his room so far away that I thought I might venture,
especially as I played just- just du bout des doigts.
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