It was the first time since
her marriage that he had stood face to face with Isabel; his desire to
see her again was then of the keenest. She had written to him from
time to time, but her letters told him nothing he wanted to know. He
had asked his mother what she was making of her life, and his mother
had simply answered that she supposed she was making the best of it.
Mrs. Touchett had not the imagination that communes with the unseen,
and she now pretended to no intimacy with her niece, whom she rarely
encountered. This young woman appeared to be living in a
sufficiently honourable way, but Mrs. Touchett still remained of the
opinion that her marriage had been a shabby affair. It had given her
no pleasure to think of Isabel's establishment, which she was sure was
a very lame business. From time to time, in Florence, she rubbed
against the Countess Gemini, doing her best always to minimize the
contact; and the Countess reminded her of Osmond, who made her think
of Isabel. The Countess was less talked of in these days; but Mrs.
Touchett augured no good of that: it only proved how she had been
talked of before. There was a more direct suggestion of Isabel in
the person of Madame Merle; but Madame Merle's relations with Mrs.
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