hard to swallow, rise again in his throat, and he knew there are
disappointments that last as long as life. Osmond went on
talking; Goodwood was vaguely aware that he was touching again
upon his perfect intimacy with his wife. It seemed to him for a
moment that the man had a kind of demonic imagination; it was
impossible that without malice he should have selected so unusual
a topic. But what did it matter, after all, whether he were
demonic or not, and whether she loved him or hated him? She might
hate him to the death without one's gaining a straw one's self.
"You travel, by the by, with Ralph Touchett," Osmond said. "I
suppose that means you'll move slowly?"

"I don't know. I shall do just as he likes."

"You're very accommodating. We're immensely obliged to you; you
must really let me say it. My wife has probably expressed to you
what we feel. Touchett has been on our minds all winter; it has
looked more than once as if he would never leave Rome. He ought
never to have come; it's worse than an imprudence for people in
that state to travel; it's a kind of indelicacy. I wouldn't for
the world be under such an obligation to Touchett as he has been
to--to my wife and me. Other people inevitably have to look after
him, and every one isn't so generous as you."

"I've nothing else to do," Caspar said dryly.

Osmond looked at him a moment askance. "You ought to marry, and
then you'd have plenty to do! It's true that in that case you
wouldn't be quite so available for deeds of mercy."