Who is he, what is he? He's a vague, unexplained American who has been living these thirty years, or less, in Italy.Why do I call him unexplained? Only as a cover for my ignorance; I don't know his antecedents, his family, his origin.For all I do know he may be a prince in disguise; he rather looks like one, by the way- like a prince who has abdicated in a fit of fastidiousness and has been in a state of disgust ever since.He used to live in Rome; but of late years he has taken up his abode here; I remember hearing him say that Rome has grown vulgar.He has a great dread of vulgarity;that's his special line; he hasn't any other that I know of.He lives on his income, which I suspect of not being vulgarly large.He's a poor but honest gentleman- that's what he calls himself.He married young and lost his wife, and I believe he has a daughter.He also has a sister, who's married to some small Count or other, of these parts; I remember meeting her of old.She's nicer than he, Ishould think, but rather impossible.I remember there used to be some stories about her.I don't think I recommend you to know her.But why don't you ask Madame Merle about these people? She knows them all much better than I.""I ask you because I want your opinion as well as hers," said Isabel.

"A fig for my opinion! If you fall in love with Mr.Osmond what will you care for that?""Not much, probably.But meanwhile it has a certain importance.

The more information one has about one's dangers the better.""I don't agree to that- it may make them dangers.We know too much about people in these days; we hear too much.Our ears, our minds, our mouths, are stuffed with personalities.Don't mind anything any one tells you about any one else.Judge every one and everything for yourself.""That's what I try to do," said Isabel; "but when you do that people call you conceited.""You're not to mind them- that's precisely my argument; not to mind what they say about yourself any more than what they say about your friend or your enemy."Isabel considered."I think you're right; but there are some things I can't help minding: for instance when my friend's attacked or when I myself am praised.""Of course you're always at liberty to judge the critic.Judge people as critics, however," Ralph added, "and you'll condemn them all!""I shall see Mr.Osmond for myself," said Isabel."I've promised to pay him a visit.""To pay him a visit?"

"To go and see his view, his pictures, his daughter- I don't know exactly what.Madame Merle's to take me; she tells me a great many ladies call on him.""Ah, with Madame Merle you may go anywhere, de confiance," said Ralph."She knows none but the best people."Isabel said no more about Mr.Osmond, but she presently remarked to her cousin that she was not satisfied with his tone about Madame Merle."It seems to me you insinuate things about her.I don't know what you mean, but if you've any grounds for disliking her I think you should either mention them frankly or else say nothing at all."Ralph, however, resented this charge with more apparent earnestness than he commonly used."I speak of Madame Merle exactly as I speak to her: with an even exaggerated respect.""Exaggerated, precisely.That's what I complain of.""I do so because Madame Merle's merits are exaggerated.""By whom, pray? By me? If so I do her a poor service.""No, no; by herself."

"Ah, I protest!" Isabel earnestly cried."If ever there was a woman who made small claims-!""You put your finger on it," Ralph interrupted."Her modesty's exaggerated.She has no business with small claims- she has a perfect right to make large ones.""Her merits are large then.You contradict yourself.""Her merits are immense," said Ralph."She's indescribably blameless; a pathless desert of virtue; the only woman I know who never gives one a chance.""A chance for what?"