She had lost her child; that was a sorrow, but it was a sorrow she scarcely spoke of; there was more to say about it than she could say to Ralph.

It belonged to the past, moreover; it had occurred six months before and she had already laid aside the tokens of mourning.
She appeared to be leading the life of the world; Ralph heard her spoken of as having a "charming position." He observed that she produced the impression of being peculiarly enviable, that it was supposed, among many people, to be a privilege even to know her.

Her house was not open to every one, and she had an evening in the week to which people were not invited as a matter of course.

She lived with a certain magnificence, but you needed to be a member of her circle to perceive it; for there was nothing to gape at, nothing to criticise, nothing even to admire, in the daily proceedings of Mr.and Mrs.Osmond.Ralph, in all this, recognised the hand of the master; for he knew that Isabel had no faculty for producing studied impressions.

She struck him as having a great love of movement, of gaiety, of late hours, of long rides, of fatigue; an eagerness to be entertained, to be interested, even to be bored, to make acquaintances, to see people who were talked about, to explore the neighbourhood of Rome, to enter into relation with certain of the mustiest relics of its old society.