["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> She was not praying; she was trembling--trembling all over. Vibration\nwas easy to her, was in fact too constant with her, and she found\nherself now humming like a smitten harp. She only asked, however, to put\non the cover, to case herself again in brown holland, but she wished to\nresist her excitement, and the attitude of devotion, which she kept for\nsome time, seemed to help her to be still. She intensely rejoiced that\nCaspar Goodwood was gone; there was something in having thus got rid of\nhim that was like the payment, for a stamped receipt, of some debt\ntoo long on her mind. As she felt the glad relief she bowed her head a\nlittle lower; the sense was there, throbbing in her heart; it was part\nof her emotion, but it was a thing to be ashamed of--it was profane and\nout of place. It was not for some ten minutes that she rose from her\nknees, and even when she came back to the sitting-room her tremor had\nnot quite subsided. It had had, verily, two causes: part of it was to be\naccounted for by her long discussion with Mr. Goodwood, but it might be\nfeared that the rest was simply the enjoyment she found in the exercise\nof her power. She sat down in the same chair again and took up her book,\nbut without going through the form of opening the volume. She leaned\nback, with that low, soft, aspiring murmur with which she often\nuttered her response to accidents of which the brighter side was not\nsuperficially obvious, and yielded to the satisfaction of having refused\ntwo ardent suitors in a fortnight. That love of liberty of which she\nhad given Caspar Goodwood so bold a sketch was as yet almost exclusively\ntheoretic; she had not been able to indulge it on a large scale. But it\nappeared to her she had done something; she had tasted of the delight,\nif not of battle, at least of victory; she had done what was truest to\nher plan. In the glow of this consciousness the image of Mr. Goodwood\ntaking his sad walk homeward through the dingy town presented itself\nwith a certain reproachful force; so that, as at the same moment the\ndoor of the room was opened, she rose with an apprehension that he\nhad come back. But it was only Henrietta Stackpole returning from her\ndinner. Miss Stackpole immediately saw that our young lady had been \"through\"\nsomething, and indeed the discovery demanded no great penetration. She\nwent straight up to her friend, who received her without a greeting. Isabel's elation in having sent Caspar Goodwood back to America\npresupposed her being in a manner glad he had come to see her; but at\nthe same time she perfectly remembered Henrietta had had no right to set\na trap for her. \"Has he been here, dear?\" the latter yearningly asked. Isabel turned away and for some moments answered nothing. \"You acted\nvery wrongly,\" she declared at last. \"I acted for the best. I only hope you acted as well.\" \"You're not the judge. I can't trust you,\" said Isabel. This declaration was unflattering, but Henrietta was much too unselfish\nto heed the charge it conveyed; she cared only for what it intimated\nwith regard to her friend. \"Isabel Archer,\" she observed with equal\nabruptness and solemnity, \"if you marry one of these people I'll never\nspeak to you again!\" \"Before making so terrible a threat you had better wait till I'm asked,\"\nIsabel replied. Never having said a word to Miss Stackpole about Lord\nWarburton's overtures, she had now no impulse whatever to justify\nherself to Henrietta by telling her that she had refused that nobleman. \"Oh, you'll be asked quick enough, once you get off on the Continent. Annie Climber was asked three times in Italy--poor plain little Annie.\" \"Well, if Annie Climber wasn't captured why should I be?\" \"I don't believe Annie was pressed; but you'll be.\" \"That's a flattering conviction,\" said Isabel without alarm. \"I don't flatter you, Isabel, I tell you the truth!\" cried her friend. \"I hope you don't mean to tell me that you didn't give Mr. Goodwood some\nhope.\" \"I don't see why I should tell you anything; as I said to you just now,\nI can't trust you. But since you're so much interested in Mr. Goodwood I\nwon't conceal from you that he returns immediately to America.\" \"You don't mean to say you've sent him off?\" Henrietta almost shrieked. \"I asked him to leave me alone; and I ask you the same, Henrietta.\" Miss\nStackpole glittered for an instant with dismay, and then passed to the\nmirror over the chimney-piece and took off her bonnet. \"I hope you've\nenjoyed your dinner,\" Isabel went on. But her companion was not to be diverted by frivolous propositions. \"Do\nyou know where you're going, Isabel Archer?\" \"Just now I'm going to bed,\" said Isabel with persistent frivolity. \"Do you know where you're drifting?\" Henrietta pursued, holding out her\nbonnet delicately. \"No, I haven't the least idea, and I find it very pleasant not to know. A swift carriage, of a dark night, rattling with four horses over roads\nthat one can't see--that's my idea of happiness.\" \"Mr. Goodwood certainly didn't teach you to say such things as\nthat--like the heroine of an immoral novel,\" said Miss Stackpole. \"You're drifting to some great mistake.\" Isabel was irritated by her friend's interference, yet she still tried\nto think what truth this declaration could represent. She could think\nof nothing that diverted her from saying: \"You must be very fond of me,\nHenrietta, to be willing to be so aggressive.\" \"I love you intensely, Isabel,\" said Miss Stackpole with feeling. \"Well, if you love me intensely let me as intensely alone. I asked that\nof Mr. Goodwood, and I must also ask it of you.\" \"Take care you're not let alone too much.\" \"That's what Mr. Goodwood said to me. I told him I must take the risks.\" \"You're a creature of risks--you make me shudder!\" cried Henrietta. \"When does Mr. Goodwood return to America?\" \"I don't know--he didn't tell me.\" \"Perhaps you didn't enquire,\" said Henrietta with the note of righteous\nirony. \"I gave him too little satisfaction to have the right to ask questions\nof him.\" This assertion seemed to Miss Stackpole for a moment to bid defiance to\ncomment; but at last she exclaimed: \"Well, Isabel, if I didn't know you\nI might think you were heartless!\" \"Take care,\" said Isabel; \"you're spoiling me.\" \"I'm afraid I've done that already. I hope, at least,\" Miss Stackpole\nadded, \"that he may cross with Annie Climber!\" Isabel learned from her the next morning that she had determined not to\nreturn to Gardencourt (where old Mr. Touchett had promised her a renewed\nwelcome), but to await in London the arrival of the invitation that Mr.\nBantling had promised her from his sister Lady Pensil. Miss Stackpole\nrelated very freely her conversation with Ralph Touchett's sociable\nfriend and declared to Isabel that she really believed she had now got\nhold of something that would lead to something. On the receipt of Lady\nPensil's letter--Mr. Bantling had virtually guaranteed the arrival of\nthis document--she would immediately depart for Bedfordshire, and if\nIsabel cared to look out for her impressions in the Interviewer\nshe would certainly find them. Henrietta was evidently going to see\nsomething of the inner life this time. \"Do you know where you're drifting, Henrietta Stackpole?\" Isabel asked,\nimitating the tone in which her friend had spoken the night before. \"I'm drifting to a big position--that of the Queen of American\nJournalism. If my next letter isn't copied all over the West I'll\nswallow my penwiper!\" She had arranged with her friend Miss Annie Climber, the young lady\nof the continental offers, that they should go together to make\nthose purchases which were to constitute Miss Climber's farewell to a\nhemisphere in which she at least had been appreciated; and she presently\nrepaired to Jermyn Street to pick up her companion. Shortly after her\ndeparture Ralph Touchett was announced, and as soon as he came in Isabel\nsaw he had something on his mind. He very soon took his cousin into his\nconfidence. He had received from his mother a telegram to the effect\nthat his father had had a sharp attack of his old malady, that she\nwas much alarmed and that she begged he would instantly return to\nGardencourt. On this occasion at least Mrs. Touchett's devotion to the\nelectric wire was not open to criticism. \"I've judged it best to see the great doctor, Sir Matthew Hope,\nfirst,\" Ralph said; \"by great good luck he's in town.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-02 The user is reading a book]\n<User> He's to see me\nat half-past twelve, and I shall make sure of his coming down to\nGardencourt--which he will do the more readily as he has already seen\nmy father several times, both there and in London. There's an express\nat two-forty-five, which I shall take; and you'll come back with me or\nremain here a few days longer, exactly as you prefer.\" \"I shall certainly go with you,\" Isabel returned. \"I don't suppose I can\nbe of any use to my uncle, but if he's ill I shall like to be near him.\" \"I think you're fond of him,\" said Ralph with a certain shy pleasure\nin his face. \"You appreciate him, which all the world hasn't done. The\nquality's too fine.\" \"I quite adore him,\" Isabel after a moment said. \"That's very well. After his son he's your greatest admirer.\" She\nwelcomed this assurance, but she gave secretly a small sigh of relief\nat the thought that Mr. Touchett was one of those admirers who couldn't\npropose to marry her. This, however, was not what she spoke; she went on\nto inform Ralph that there were other reasons for her not remaining in\nLondon. She was tired of it and wished to leave it; and then Henrietta\nwas going away--going to stay in Bedfordshire. \"In Bedfordshire?\" \"With Lady Pensil, the sister of Mr. Bantling, who has answered for an\ninvitation.\" Ralph was feeling anxious, but at this he broke into a laugh. Suddenly,\nnone the less, his gravity returned. \"Bantling's a man of courage. But\nif the invitation should get lost on the way?\" \"I thought the British post-office was impeccable.\" \"The good Homer sometimes nods,\" said Ralph. \"However,\" he went on more\nbrightly, \"the good Bantling never does, and, whatever happens, he'll\ntake care of Henrietta.\" Ralph went to keep his appointment with Sir Matthew Hope, and Isabel\nmade her arrangements for quitting Pratt's Hotel. Her uncle's danger\ntouched her nearly, and while she stood before her open trunk, looking\nabout her vaguely for what she should put into it, the tears suddenly\nrose to her eyes. It was perhaps for this reason that when Ralph came\nback at two o'clock to take her to the station she was not yet ready. He\nfound Miss Stackpole, however, in the sitting-room, where she had just\nrisen from her luncheon, and this lady immediately expressed her regret\nat his father's illness. \"He's a grand old man,\" she said; \"he's faithful to the last. If it's\nreally to be the last--pardon my alluding to it, but you must often\nhave thought of the possibility--I'm sorry that I shall not be at\nGardencourt.\" \"You'll amuse yourself much more in Bedfordshire.\" \"I shall be sorry to amuse myself at such a time,\" said Henrietta\nwith much propriety. But she immediately added: \"I should like so to\ncommemorate the closing scene.\" \"My father may live a long time,\" said Ralph simply. Then, adverting\nto topics more cheerful, he interrogated Miss Stackpole as to her own\nfuture. Now that Ralph was in trouble she addressed him in a tone of larger\nallowance and told him that she was much indebted to him for having made\nher acquainted with Mr. Bantling. \"He has told me just the things I\nwant to know,\" she said; \"all the society items and all about the royal\nfamily. I can't make out that what he tells me about the royal family is\nmuch to their credit; but he says that's only my peculiar way of looking\nat it. Well, all I want is that he should give me the facts; I can put\nthem together quick enough, once I've got them.\" And she added that Mr.\nBantling had been so good as to promise to come and take her out that\nafternoon. \"To take you where?\" Ralph ventured to enquire. \"To Buckingham Palace. He's going to show me over it, so that I may get\nsome idea how they live.\" \"Ah,\" said Ralph, \"we leave you in good hands. The first thing we shall\nhear is that you're invited to Windsor Castle.\" \"If they ask me, I shall certainly go. Once I get started I'm not\nafraid. But for all that,\" Henrietta added in a moment, \"I'm not\nsatisfied; I'm not at peace about Isabel.\" \"What is her last misdemeanour?\" \"Well, I've told you before, and I suppose there's no harm in my going\non. I always finish a subject that I take up. Mr. Goodwood was here last\nnight.\" Ralph opened his eyes; he even blushed a little--his blush being\nthe sign of an emotion somewhat acute. He remembered that Isabel, in\nseparating from him in Winchester Square, had repudiated his suggestion\nthat her motive in doing so was the expectation of a visitor at Pratt's\nHotel, and it was a new pang to him to have to suspect her of duplicity. On the other hand, he quickly said to himself, what concern was it of\nhis that she should have made an appointment with a lover? Had it not\nbeen thought graceful in every age that young ladies should make a\nmystery of such appointments? Ralph gave Miss Stackpole a diplomatic\nanswer. \"I should have thought that, with the views you expressed to me\nthe other day, this would satisfy you perfectly.\" \"That he should come to see her? That was very well, as far as it went. It was a little plot of mine; I let him know that we were in London, and\nwhen it had been arranged that I should spend the evening out I sent him\na word--the word we just utter to the 'wise.' I hoped he would find her\nalone; I won't pretend I didn't hope that you'd be out of the way. He\ncame to see her, but he might as well have stayed away.\" \"Isabel was cruel?\" --and Ralph's face lighted with the relief of his\ncousin's not having shown duplicity. \"I don't exactly know what passed between them. But she gave him no\nsatisfaction--she sent him back to America.\" \"Poor Mr. Goodwood!\" Ralph sighed. \"Her only idea seems to be to get rid of him,\" Henrietta went on. \"Poor Mr. Goodwood!\" Ralph repeated. The exclamation, it must be\nconfessed, was automatic; it failed exactly to express his thoughts,\nwhich were taking another line. \"You don't say that as if you felt it. I don't believe you care.\" \"Ah,\" said Ralph, \"you must remember that I don't know this interesting\nyoung man--that I've never seen him.\" \"Well, I shall see him, and I shall tell him not to give up. If I didn't\nbelieve Isabel would come round,\" Miss Stackpole added--\"well, I'd give\nup myself. I mean I'd give HER up!\" It had occurred to Ralph that, in the conditions, Isabel's parting with\nher friend might be of a slightly embarrassed nature, and he went down\nto the door of the hotel in advance of his cousin, who, after a slight\ndelay, followed with the traces of an unaccepted remonstrance, as he\nthought, in her eyes. The two made the journey to Gardencourt in almost\nunbroken silence, and the servant who met them at the station had no\nbetter news to give them of Mr. Touchett--a fact which caused Ralph to\ncongratulate himself afresh on Sir Matthew Hope's having promised to\ncome down in the five o'clock train and spend the night. Mrs. Touchett,\nhe learned, on reaching home, had been constantly with the old man and\nwas with him at that moment; and this fact made Ralph say to himself\nthat, after all, what his mother wanted was just easy occasion. The\nfiner natures were those that shone at the larger times. Isabel went to\nher own room, noting throughout the house that perceptible hush which\nprecedes a crisis. At the end of an hour, however, she came downstairs\nin search of her aunt, whom she wished to ask about Mr. Touchett. She\nwent into the library, but Mrs. Touchett was not there, and as the\nweather, which had been damp and chill, was now altogether spoiled, it\nwas not probable she had gone for her usual walk in the grounds. Isabel\nwas on the point of ringing to send a question to her room, when this\npurpose quickly yielded to an unexpected sound--the sound of low music\nproceeding apparently from the saloon. She knew her aunt never touched\nthe piano, and the musician was therefore probably Ralph, who played for\nhis own amusement. That he should have resorted to this recreation at\nthe present time indicated apparently that his anxiety about his father\nhad been relieved; so that the girl took her way, almost with restored\ncheer, toward the source of the harmony.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-02, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> The drawing-room at Gardencourt\nwas an apartment of great distances, and, as the piano was placed at\nthe end of it furthest removed from the door at which she entered, her\narrival was not noticed by the person seated before the instrument. This person was neither Ralph nor his mother; it was a lady whom\nIsabel immediately saw to be a stranger to herself, though her back was\npresented to the door. This back--an ample and well-dressed one--Isabel\nviewed for some moments with surprise. The lady was of course a visitor\nwho had arrived during her absence and who had not been mentioned by\neither of the servants--one of them her aunt's maid--of whom she had had\nspeech since her return. Isabel had already learned, however, with\nwhat treasures of reserve the function of receiving orders may be\naccompanied, and she was particularly conscious of having been treated\nwith dryness by her aunt's maid, through whose hands she had slipped\nperhaps a little too mistrustfully and with an effect of plumage but\nthe more lustrous. The advent of a guest was in itself far from\ndisconcerting; she had not yet divested herself of a young faith that\neach new acquaintance would exert some momentous influence on her life. By the time she had made these reflexions she became aware that the\nlady at the piano played remarkably well. She was playing something\nof Schubert's--Isabel knew not what, but recognised Schubert--and she\ntouched the piano with a discretion of her own. It showed skill, it\nshowed feeling; Isabel sat down noiselessly on the nearest chair and\nwaited till the end of the piece. When it was finished she felt a strong\ndesire to thank the player, and rose from her seat to do so, while at\nthe same time the stranger turned quickly round, as if but just aware of\nher presence. \"That's very beautiful, and your playing makes it more beautiful still,\"\nsaid Isabel with all the young radiance with which she usually uttered a\ntruthful rapture. \"You don't think I disturbed Mr. Touchett then?\" the musician answered\nas sweetly as this compliment deserved. \"The house is so large and his\nroom so far away that I thought I might venture, especially as I played\njust--just du bout des doigts.\" \"She's a Frenchwoman,\" Isabel said to herself; \"she says that as if she\nwere French.\" And this supposition made the visitor more interesting to\nour speculative heroine. \"I hope my uncle's doing well,\" Isabel added. \"I should think that to hear such lovely music as that would really make\nhim feel better.\" The lady smiled and discriminated. \"I'm afraid there are moments in life\nwhen even Schubert has nothing to say to us. We must admit, however,\nthat they are our worst.\" \"I'm not in that state now then,\" said Isabel. \"On the contrary I should\nbe so glad if you would play something more.\" \"If it will give you pleasure--delighted.\" And this obliging person took\nher place again and struck a few chords, while Isabel sat down nearer\nthe instrument. Suddenly the new-comer stopped with her hands on the\nkeys, half-turning and looking over her shoulder. She was forty years\nold and not pretty, though her expression charmed. \"Pardon me,\" she\nsaid; \"but are you the niece--the young American?\" \"I'm my aunt's niece,\" Isabel replied with simplicity. The lady at the piano sat still a moment longer, casting her air of\ninterest over her shoulder. \"That's very well; we're compatriots.\" And\nthen she began to play. \"Ah then she's not French,\" Isabel murmured; and as the opposite\nsupposition had made her romantic it might have seemed that this\nrevelation would have marked a drop. But such was not the fact; rarer\neven than to be French seemed it to be American on such interesting\nterms. The lady played in the same manner as before, softly and solemnly, and\nwhile she played the shadows deepened in the room. The autumn twilight\ngathered in, and from her place Isabel could see the rain, which had now\nbegun in earnest, washing the cold-looking lawn and the wind shaking the\ngreat trees. At last, when the music had ceased, her companion got up\nand, coming nearer with a smile, before Isabel had time to thank her\nagain, said: \"I'm very glad you've come back; I've heard a great deal\nabout you.\" Isabel thought her a very attractive person, but nevertheless spoke with\na certain abruptness in reply to this speech. \"From whom have you heard\nabout me?\" The stranger hesitated a single moment and then, \"From your uncle,\" she\nanswered. \"I've been here three days, and the first day he let me come\nand pay him a visit in his room. Then he talked constantly of you.\" \"As you didn't know me that must rather have bored you.\" \"It made me want to know you. All the more that since then--your aunt\nbeing so much with Mr. Touchett--I've been quite alone and have got\nrather tired of my own society. I've not chosen a good moment for my\nvisit.\" A servant had come in with lamps and was presently followed by another\nbearing the tea-tray. On the appearance of this repast Mrs. Touchett had\napparently been notified, for she now arrived and addressed herself to\nthe tea-pot. Her greeting to her niece did not differ materially from\nher manner of raising the lid of this receptacle in order to glance at\nthe contents: in neither act was it becoming to make a show of avidity. Questioned about her husband she was unable to say he was better; but\nthe local doctor was with him, and much light was expected from this\ngentleman's consultation with Sir Matthew Hope. \"I suppose you two ladies have made acquaintance,\" she pursued. \"If you\nhaven't I recommend you to do so; for so long as we continue--Ralph and\nI--to cluster about Mr. Touchett's bed you're not likely to have much\nsociety but each other.\" \"I know nothing about you but that you're a great musician,\" Isabel said\nto the visitor. \"There's a good deal more than that to know,\" Mrs. Touchett affirmed in\nher little dry tone. \"A very little of it, I am sure, will content Miss Archer!\" the lady\nexclaimed with a light laugh. \"I'm an old friend of your aunt's. I've lived much in Florence. I'm Madame Merle.\" She made this last\nannouncement as if she were referring to a person of tolerably distinct\nidentity. For Isabel, however, it represented little; she could only\ncontinue to feel that Madame Merle had as charming a manner as any she\nhad ever encountered. \"She's not a foreigner in spite of her name,\" said Mrs. Touchett. \"She was born--I always forget where you were born.\" \"It's hardly worth while then I should tell you.\" \"On the contrary,\" said Mrs. Touchett, who rarely missed a logical\npoint; \"if I remembered your telling me would be quite superfluous.\" Madame Merle glanced at Isabel with a sort of world-wide smile, a\nthing that over-reached frontiers. \"I was born under the shadow of the\nnational banner.\" \"She's too fond of mystery,\" said Mrs. Touchett; \"that's her great\nfault.\" \"Ah,\" exclaimed Madame Merle, \"I've great faults, but I don't think\nthat's one of then; it certainly isn't the greatest. I came into the\nworld in the Brooklyn navy-yard. My father was a high officer in the\nUnited States Navy, and had a post--a post of responsibility--in that\nestablishment at the time. I suppose I ought to love the sea, but I hate\nit. That's why I don't return to America. I love the land; the great\nthing is to love something.\" Isabel, as a dispassionate witness, had not been struck with the\nforce of Mrs. Touchett's characterisation of her visitor, who had an\nexpressive, communicative, responsive face, by no means of the sort\nwhich, to Isabel's mind, suggested a secretive disposition. It was a\nface that told of an amplitude of nature and of quick and free motions\nand, though it had no regular beauty, was in the highest degree engaging\nand attaching. Madame Merle was a tall, fair, smooth woman; everything\nin her person was round and replete, though without those accumulations\nwhich suggest heaviness. Her features were thick but in perfect\nproportion and harmony, and her complexion had a healthy clearness. Her grey eyes were small but full of light and incapable of\nstupidity--incapable, according to some people, even of tears; she had\na liberal, full-rimmed mouth which when she smiled drew itself upward to\nthe left side in a manner that most people thought very odd, some very\naffected and a few very graceful. Isabel inclined to range herself in\nthe last category.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-05 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Madame Merle had thick, fair hair, arranged somehow\n\"classically\" and as if she were a Bust, Isabel judged--a Juno or a\nNiobe; and large white hands, of a perfect shape, a shape so perfect\nthat their possessor, preferring to leave them unadorned, wore no\njewelled rings. Isabel had taken her at first, as we have seen, for\na Frenchwoman; but extended observation might have ranked her as a\nGerman--a German of high degree, perhaps an Austrian, a baroness, a\ncountess, a princess. It would never have been supposed she had come\ninto the world in Brooklyn--though one could doubtless not have carried\nthrough any argument that the air of distinction marking her in so\neminent a degree was inconsistent with such a birth. It was true that\nthe national banner had floated immediately over her cradle, and the\nbreezy freedom of the stars and stripes might have shed an influence\nupon the attitude she there took towards life. And yet she had evidently\nnothing of the fluttered, flapping quality of a morsel of bunting in the\nwind; her manner expressed the repose and confidence which come from a\nlarge experience. Experience, however, had not quenched her youth; it\nhad simply made her sympathetic and supple. She was in a word a woman of\nstrong impulses kept in admirable order. This commended itself to Isabel\nas an ideal combination. The girl made these reflexions while the three ladies sat at their tea,\nbut that ceremony was interrupted before long by the arrival of the\ngreat doctor from London, who had been immediately ushered into the\ndrawing-room. Mrs. Touchett took him off to the library for a private\ntalk; and then Madame Merle and Isabel parted, to meet again at dinner. The idea of seeing more of this interesting woman did much to mitigate\nIsabel's sense of the sadness now settling on Gardencourt. When she came into the drawing-room before dinner she found the place\nempty; but in the course of a moment Ralph arrived. His anxiety about\nhis father had been lightened; Sir Matthew Hope's view of his condition\nwas less depressed than his own had been. The doctor recommended that\nthe nurse alone should remain with the old man for the next three or\nfour hours; so that Ralph, his mother and the great physician himself\nwere free to dine at table. Mrs. Touchett and Sir Matthew appeared;\nMadame Merle was the last. Before she came Isabel spoke of her to Ralph, who was standing before\nthe fireplace. \"Pray who is this Madame Merle?\" \"The cleverest woman I know, not excepting yourself,\" said Ralph. \"I thought she seemed very pleasant.\" \"I was sure you'd think her very pleasant.\" \"Is that why you invited her?\" \"I didn't invite her, and when we came back from London I didn't know\nshe was here. No one invited her. She's a friend of my mother's, and\njust after you and I went to town my mother got a note from her. She had\narrived in England (she usually lives abroad, though she has first and\nlast spent a good deal of time here), and asked leave to come down for\na few days. She's a woman who can make such proposals with perfect\nconfidence; she's so welcome wherever she goes. And with my mother there\ncould be no question of hesitating; she's the one person in the world\nwhom my mother very much admires. If she were not herself (which she\nafter all much prefers), she would like to be Madame Merle. It would\nindeed be a great change.\" \"Well, she's very charming,\" said Isabel. \"And she plays beautifully.\" \"She does everything beautifully. She's complete.\" Isabel looked at her cousin a moment. \"You don't like her.\" \"On the contrary, I was once in love with her.\" \"And she didn't care for you, and that's why you don't like her.\" \"How can we have discussed such things? Monsieur Merle was then living.\" \"Is he dead now?\" \"So she says.\" \"Don't you believe her?\" \"Yes, because the statement agrees with the probabilities. The husband\nof Madame Merle would be likely to pass away.\" Isabel gazed at her cousin again. \"I don't know what you mean. You mean\nsomething--that you don't mean. What was Monsieur Merle?\" \"The husband of Madame.\" \"You're very odious. Has she any children?\" \"Not the least little child--fortunately.\" \"Fortunately?\" \"I mean fortunately for the child. She'd be sure to spoil it.\" Isabel was apparently on the point of assuring her cousin for the third\ntime that he was odious; but the discussion was interrupted by the\narrival of the lady who was the topic of it. She came rustling in\nquickly, apologising for being late, fastening a bracelet, dressed in\ndark blue satin, which exposed a white bosom that was ineffectually\ncovered by a curious silver necklace. Ralph offered her his arm with the\nexaggerated alertness of a man who was no longer a lover. Even if this had still been his condition, however, Ralph had other\nthings to think about. The great doctor spent the night at Gardencourt\nand, returning to London on the morrow, after another consultation with\nMr. Touchett's own medical adviser, concurred in Ralph's desire that he\nshould see the patient again on the day following. On the day following\nSir Matthew Hope reappeared at Gardencourt, and now took a less\nencouraging view of the old man, who had grown worse in the twenty-four\nhours. His feebleness was extreme, and to his son, who constantly sat\nby his bedside, it often seemed that his end must be at hand. The local\ndoctor, a very sagacious man, in whom Ralph had secretly more confidence\nthan in his distinguished colleague, was constantly in attendance, and\nSir Matthew Hope came back several times. Mr. Touchett was much of the\ntime unconscious; he slept a great deal; he rarely spoke. Isabel had a\ngreat desire to be useful to him and was allowed to watch with him at\nhours when his other attendants (of whom Mrs. Touchett was not the least\nregular) went to take rest. He never seemed to know her, and she always\nsaid to herself \"Suppose he should die while I'm sitting here;\" an idea\nwhich excited her and kept her awake. Once he opened his eyes for a\nwhile and fixed them upon her intelligently, but when she went to him,\nhoping he would recognise her, he closed them and relapsed into stupor. The day after this, however, he revived for a longer time; but on this\noccasion Ralph only was with him. The old man began to talk, much to his\nson's satisfaction, who assured him that they should presently have him\nsitting up. \"No, my boy,\" said Mr. Touchett, \"not unless you bury me in a sitting\nposture, as some of the ancients--was it the ancients?--used to do.\" \"Ah, daddy, don't talk about that,\" Ralph murmured. \"You mustn't deny\nthat you're getting better.\" \"There will be no need of my denying it if you don't say it,\" the old\nman answered. \"Why should we prevaricate just at the last? We never\nprevaricated before. I've got to die some time, and it's better to die\nwhen one's sick than when one's well. I'm very sick--as sick as I shall\never be. I hope you don't want to prove that I shall ever be worse than\nthis? That would be too bad. You don't? Well then.\" Having made this excellent point he became quiet; but the next time that\nRalph was with him he again addressed himself to conversation. The\nnurse had gone to her supper and Ralph was alone in charge, having just\nrelieved Mrs. Touchett, who had been on guard since dinner. The room was\nlighted only by the flickering fire, which of late had become necessary,\nand Ralph's tall shadow was projected over wall and ceiling with an\noutline constantly varying but always grotesque. \"Who's that with me--is it my son?\" the old man asked. \"Yes, it's your son, daddy.\" \"And is there no one else?\" \"No one else.\" Mr. Touchett said nothing for a while; and then, \"I want to talk a\nlittle,\" he went on. \"Won't it tire you?\" Ralph demurred. \"It won't matter if it does. I shall have a long rest. I want to talk\nabout YOU.\" Ralph had drawn nearer to the bed; he sat leaning forward with his hand\non his father's. \"You had better select a brighter topic.\" \"You were always bright; I used to be proud of your brightness. I should\nlike so much to think you'd do something.\" \"If you leave us,\" said Ralph, \"I shall do nothing but miss you.\" \"That's just what I don't want; it's what I want to talk about. You must\nget a new interest.\" \"I don't want a new interest, daddy.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-05, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-07 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I have more old ones than I know\nwhat to do with.\" The old man lay there looking at his son; his face was the face of the\ndying, but his eyes were the eyes of Daniel Touchett. He seemed to be\nreckoning over Ralph's interests. \"Of course you have your mother,\" he\nsaid at last. \"You'll take care of her.\" \"My mother will always take care of herself,\" Ralph returned. \"Well,\" said his father, \"perhaps as she grows older she'll need a\nlittle help.\" \"I shall not see that. She'll outlive me.\" \"Very likely she will; but that's no reason--!\" Mr. Touchett let his\nphrase die away in a helpless but not quite querulous sigh and remained\nsilent again. \"Don't trouble yourself about us,\" said his son, \"My mother and I get on\nvery well together, you know.\" \"You get on by always being apart; that's not natural.\" \"If you leave us we shall probably see more of each other.\" \"Well,\" the old man observed with wandering irrelevance, \"it can't be\nsaid that my death will make much difference in your mother's life.\" \"It will probably make more than you think.\" \"Well, she'll have more money,\" said Mr. Touchett. \"I've left her a good\nwife's portion, just as if she had been a good wife.\" \"She has been one, daddy, according to her own theory. She has never\ntroubled you.\" \"Ah, some troubles are pleasant,\" Mr. Touchett murmured. \"Those you've\ngiven me for instance. But your mother has been less--less--what shall\nI call it? less out of the way since I've been ill. I presume she knows\nI've noticed it.\" \"I shall certainly tell her so; I'm so glad you mention it.\" \"It won't make any difference to her; she doesn't do it to please me. She does it to please--to please--\" And he lay a while trying to think\nwhy she did it. \"She does it because it suits her. But that's not what\nI want to talk about,\" he added. \"It's about you. You'll be very well\noff.\" \"Yes,\" said Ralph, \"I know that. But I hope you've not forgotten the\ntalk we had a year ago--when I told you exactly what money I should need\nand begged you to make some good use of the rest.\" \"Yes, yes, I remember. I made a new will--in a few days. I suppose it\nwas the first time such a thing had happened--a young man trying to get\na will made against him.\" \"It is not against me,\" said Ralph. \"It would be against me to have a\nlarge property to take care of. It's impossible for a man in my state of\nhealth to spend much money, and enough is as good as a feast.\" \"Well, you'll have enough--and something over. There will be more than\nenough for one--there will be enough for two.\" \"That's too much,\" said Ralph. \"Ah, don't say that. The best thing you can do; when I'm gone, will be\nto marry.\" Ralph had foreseen what his father was coming to, and this suggestion\nwas by no means fresh. It had long been Mr. Touchett's most ingenious\nway of taking the cheerful view of his son's possible duration. Ralph\nhad usually treated it facetiously; but present circumstances proscribed\nthe facetious. He simply fell back in his chair and returned his\nfather's appealing gaze. \"If I, with a wife who hasn't been very fond of me, have had a very\nhappy life,\" said the old man, carrying his ingenuity further still,\n\"what a life mightn't you have if you should marry a person different\nfrom Mrs. Touchett. There are more different from her than there are\nlike her.\" Ralph still said nothing; and after a pause his father\nresumed softly: \"What do you think of your cousin?\" At this Ralph started, meeting the question with a strained smile. \"Do I\nunderstand you to propose that I should marry Isabel?\" \"Well, that's what it comes to in the end. Don't you like Isabel?\" \"Yes, very much.\" And Ralph got up from his chair and wandered over to\nthe fire. He stood before it an instant and then he stooped and stirred\nit mechanically. \"I like Isabel very much,\" he repeated. \"Well,\" said his father, \"I know she likes you. She has told me how much\nshe likes you.\" \"Did she remark that she would like to marry me?\" \"No, but she can't have anything against you. And she's the most\ncharming young lady I've ever seen. And she would be good to you. I have\nthought a great deal about it.\" \"So have I,\" said Ralph, coming back to the bedside again. \"I don't mind\ntelling you that.\" \"You ARE in love with her then? I should think you would be. It's as if\nshe came over on purpose.\" \"No, I'm not in love with her; but I should be if--if certain things\nwere different.\" \"Ah, things are always different from what they might be,\" said the old\nman. \"If you wait for them to change you'll never do anything. I don't\nknow whether you know,\" he went on; \"but I suppose there's no harm in\nmy alluding to it at such an hour as this: there was some one wanted to\nmarry Isabel the other day, and she wouldn't have him.\" \"I know she refused Warburton: he told me himself.\" \"Well, that proves there's a chance for somebody else.\" \"Somebody else took his chance the other day in London--and got nothing\nby it.\" \"Was it you?\" Mr. Touchett eagerly asked. \"No, it was an older friend; a poor gentleman who came over from America\nto see about it.\" \"Well, I'm sorry for him, whoever he was. But it only proves what I\nsay--that the way's open to you.\" \"If it is, dear father, it's all the greater pity that I'm unable to\ntread it. I haven't many convictions; but I have three or four that I\nhold strongly. One is that people, on the whole, had better not marry\ntheir cousins. Another is that people in an advanced stage of pulmonary\ndisorder had better not marry at all.\" The old man raised his weak hand and moved it to and fro before his\nface. \"What do you mean by that? You look at things in a way that would\nmake everything wrong. What sort of a cousin is a cousin that you\nhad never seen for more than twenty years of her life? We're all each\nother's cousins, and if we stopped at that the human race would die out. It's just the same with your bad lung. You're a great deal better than\nyou used to be. All you want is to lead a natural life. It is a great\ndeal more natural to marry a pretty young lady that you're in love with\nthan it is to remain single on false principles.\" \"I'm not in love with Isabel,\" said Ralph. \"You said just now that you would be if you didn't think it wrong. I\nwant to prove to you that it isn't wrong.\" \"It will only tire you, dear daddy,\" said Ralph, who marvelled at his\nfather's tenacity and at his finding strength to insist. \"Then where\nshall we all be?\" \"Where shall you be if I don't provide for you? You won't have anything\nto do with the bank, and you won't have me to take care of. You say\nyou've so many interests; but I can't make them out.\" Ralph leaned back in his chair with folded arms; his eyes were fixed for\nsome time in meditation. At last, with the air of a man fairly mustering\ncourage, \"I take a great interest in my cousin,\" he said, \"but not the\nsort of interest you desire. I shall not live many years; but I hope I\nshall live long enough to see what she does with herself. She's entirely\nindependent of me; I can exercise very little influence upon her life. But I should like to do something for her.\" \"What should you like to do?\" \"I should like to put a little wind in her sails.\" \"What do you mean by that?\" \"I should like to put it into her power to do some of the things she\nwants. She wants to see the world for instance. I should like to put\nmoney in her purse.\" \"Ah, I'm glad you've thought of that,\" said the old man. \"But I've\nthought of it too. I've left her a legacy--five thousand pounds.\" \"That's capital; it's very kind of you. But I should like to do a little\nmore.\" Something of that veiled acuteness with which it had been on Daniel\nTouchett's part the habit of a lifetime to listen to a financial\nproposition still lingered in the face in which the invalid had not\nobliterated the man of business. \"I shall be happy to consider it,\" he\nsaid softly.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-07, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-09 The user is reading a book]\n<User> \"Isabel's poor then. My mother tells me that she has but a few hundred\ndollars a year. I should like to make her rich.\" \"What do you mean by rich?\" \"I call people rich when they're able to meet the requirements of their\nimagination. Isabel has a great deal of imagination.\" \"So have you, my son,\" said Mr. Touchett, listening very attentively but\na little confusedly. \"You tell me I shall have money enough for two. What I want is that you\nshould kindly relieve me of my superfluity and make it over to Isabel. Divide my inheritance into two equal halves and give her the second.\" \"To do what she likes with?\" \"Absolutely what she likes.\" \"And without an equivalent?\" \"What equivalent could there be?\" \"The one I've already mentioned.\" \"Her marrying--some one or other? It's just to do away with anything of\nthat sort that I make my suggestion. If she has an easy income she'll\nnever have to marry for a support. That's what I want cannily to\nprevent. She wishes to be free, and your bequest will make her free.\" \"Well, you seem to have thought it out,\" said Mr. Touchett. \"But I don't\nsee why you appeal to me. The money will be yours, and you can easily\ngive it to her yourself.\" Ralph openly stared. \"Ah, dear father, I can't offer Isabel money!\" The old man gave a groan. \"Don't tell me you're not in love with her! Do\nyou want me to have the credit of it?\" \"Entirely. I should like it simply to be a clause in your will, without\nthe slightest reference to me.\" \"Do you want me to make a new will then?\" \"A few words will do it; you can attend to it the next time you feel a\nlittle lively.\" \"You must telegraph to Mr. Hilary then. I'll do nothing without my\nsolicitor.\" \"You shall see Mr. Hilary to-morrow.\" \"He'll think we've quarrelled, you and I,\" said the old man. \"Very probably; I shall like him to think it,\" said Ralph, smiling;\n\"and, to carry out the idea, I give you notice that I shall be very\nsharp, quite horrid and strange, with you.\" The humour of this appeared to touch his father, who lay a little while\ntaking it in. \"I'll do anything you like,\" Mr. Touchett said at last;\n\"but I'm not sure it's right. You say you want to put wind in her sails;\nbut aren't you afraid of putting too much?\" \"I should like to see her going before the breeze!\" Ralph answered. \"You speak as if it were for your mere amusement.\" \"So it is, a good deal.\" \"Well, I don't think I understand,\" said Mr. Touchett with a sigh. \"Young men are very different from what I was. When I cared for a\ngirl--when I was young--I wanted to do more than look at her.\" \"You've scruples that I shouldn't have had, and you've ideas that I\nshouldn't have had either. You say Isabel wants to be free, and that\nher being rich will keep her from marrying for money. Do you think that\nshe's a girl to do that?\" \"By no means. But she has less money than she has ever had before. Her\nfather then gave her everything, because he used to spend his capital. She has nothing but the crumbs of that feast to live on, and she doesn't\nreally know how meagre they are--she has yet to learn it. My mother has\ntold me all about it. Isabel will learn it when she's really thrown upon\nthe world, and it would be very painful to me to think of her coming to\nthe consciousness of a lot of wants she should be unable to satisfy.\" \"I've left her five thousand pounds. She can satisfy a good many wants\nwith that.\" \"She can indeed. But she would probably spend it in two or three years.\" \"You think she'd be extravagant then?\" \"Most certainly,\" said Ralph, smiling serenely. Poor Mr. Touchett's acuteness was rapidly giving place to pure\nconfusion. \"It would merely be a question of time then, her spending the\nlarger sum?\" \"No--though at first I think she'd plunge into that pretty freely: she'd\nprobably make over a part of it to each of her sisters. But after that\nshe'd come to her senses, remember she has still a lifetime before her,\nand live within her means.\" \"Well, you HAVE worked it out,\" said the old man helplessly. \"You do\ntake an interest in her, certainly.\" \"You can't consistently say I go too far. You wished me to go further.\" \"Well, I don't know,\" Mr. Touchett answered. \"I don't think I enter into\nyour spirit. It seems to me immoral.\" \"Immoral, dear daddy?\" \"Well, I don't know that it's right to make everything so easy for a\nperson.\" \"It surely depends upon the person. When the person's good, your making\nthings easy is all to the credit of virtue. To facilitate the execution\nof good impulses, what can be a nobler act?\" This was a little difficult to follow, and Mr. Touchett considered it\nfor a while. At last he said: \"Isabel's a sweet young thing; but do you\nthink she's so good as that?\" \"She's as good as her best opportunities,\" Ralph returned. \"Well,\" Mr. Touchett declared, \"she ought to get a great many\nopportunities for sixty thousand pounds.\" \"I've no doubt she will.\" \"Of course I'll do what you want,\" said the old man. \"I only want to\nunderstand it a little.\" \"Well, dear daddy, don't you understand it now?\" his son caressingly\nasked. \"If you don't we won't take any more trouble about it. We'll\nleave it alone.\" Mr. Touchett lay a long time still. Ralph supposed he had given up the\nattempt to follow. But at last, quite lucidly, he began again. \"Tell\nme this first. Doesn't it occur to you that a young lady with sixty\nthousand pounds may fall a victim to the fortune-hunters?\" \"She'll hardly fall a victim to more than one.\" \"Well, one's too many.\" \"Decidedly. That's a risk, and it has entered into my calculation. I\nthink it's appreciable, but I think it's small, and I'm prepared to take\nit.\" Poor Mr. Touchett's acuteness had passed into perplexity, and his\nperplexity now passed into admiration. \"Well, you have gone into it!\" he\nrepeated. \"But I don't see what good you're to get of it.\" Ralph leaned over his father's pillows and gently smoothed them; he was\naware their talk had been unduly prolonged. \"I shall get just the good\nI said a few moments ago I wished to put into Isabel's reach--that of\nhaving met the requirements of my imagination. But it's scandalous, the\nway I've taken advantage of you!\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-09, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-09", "answer": "Caspar Goodwood, Henrietta, Isabel, Ralph, Mr. Touchett, Mrs. Touchett, Madame Merle, Gardencourt, drawing room, piano, telegram, inheritance, will amendment, independence, imagination, fortune hunter, London suitor, legacy, power to travel, satisfaction, values, conduct, interview, America, rejection, advice, friendship, destiny, wealth, decision to leave, family illness, Ralph's proposal, Mr. Touchett's fears, Madame Merle's talent, Mrs. Touchett's friend"}]