One could see this in Gilbert Osmond, Madame Merle held--see that he had been brought up by a woman; though, to do him justice, one would suppose it had been by a more sensible woman than the American Corinne, as Mrs.Osmond had liked to be called.

She had brought her children to Italy after her husband's death, and Mrs.Touchett remembered her during the year that followed her arrival.

She thought her a horrible snob; but this was an irregularity of judgement on Mrs.Touchett's part, for she, like Mrs.Osmond, approved of political marriages.

The Countess was very good company and not really the featherhead she seemed; all one had to do with her was to observe the simple condition of not believing a word she said.
Madame Merle had always made the best of her for her brother's sake; he appreciated any kindness shown to Amy, because (if it had to be confessed for him) he rather felt she let down their common name.
Naturally he couldn't like her style, her shrillness, her egotism, her violations of taste and above all of truth: she acted badly on his nerves, she was not HIS sort of woman.

What was his sort of woman?
Oh, the very opposite of the Countess, a woman to whom the truth should be habitually sacred.