"Oh yes, a great deal; but it's more for literature," said Pansy --"and for conversation. But papa
cares also for those things. I think he knows everything."
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Rosier was silent a little. "There's one thing I'm sure he knows!" he broke out presently. "He
knows that when I come here it's, with all respect to him, with all respect to Mrs. Osmond, who's
so charming--it's really," said the young man, "to see you!"
"To see me?" And Pansy raised her vaguely troubled eyes.
"To see you; that's what I come for," Rosier repeated, feeling the intoxication of a rupture with
authority.
Pansy stood looking at him, simply, intently, openly; a blush was not needed to make her face
more modest. "I thought it was for that."
"And it was not disagreeable to you?"
"I couldn't tell; I didn't know. You never told me," said Pansy.
"I was afraid of offending you."
"You don't offend me," the young girl murmured, smiling as if an angel had kissed her.
"You like me then, Pansy?" Rosier asked very gently, feeling very happy.
"Yes--I like you."
They had walked to the chimney-piece where the big cold Empire clock was perched; they were
well within the room and beyond observation from without. The tone in which she had said these
four words seemed to him the very breath of nature, and his only answer could be to take her hand
and hold it a moment. Then he raised it to his lips. She submitted, still with her pure, trusting
smile, in which there was something ineffably passive. She liked him--she had liked him all the
while; now anything might happen! She was ready--she had been ready always, waiting for him to
speak. If he had not spoken she would have waited for ever; but when the word came she dropped
like the peach from the shaken tree. Rosier felt that if he should draw her toward him and hold her
to his heart she would submit without a murmur, would rest there without a question. It was true
that this would be a rash experiment in a yellow Empire salottino. She had known it was for her he
came, and yet like what a perfect little lady she had carried it off!
"You're very dear to me," he murmured, trying to believe that there was after all such a thing as
hospitality.
She looked a moment at her hand, where he had kissed it. "Did you say papa knows?"
"You told me just now he knows everything."
"I think you must make sure," said Pansy.
"Ah, my dear, when once I'm sure of YOU!" Rosier murmured in her ear; whereupon she turned
back to the other rooms with a little air of consistency which seemed to imply that their appeal
should be immediate.
The other rooms meanwhile had become conscious of the arrival of Madame Merle, who,
wherever she went, produced an impression when she entered. How she did it the most attentive
spectator could not have told you, for she neither spoke loud, nor laughed profusely, nor moved
rapidly, nor dressed with splendour, nor appealed in any appreciable manner to the audience.
Large, fair, smiling, serene, there was something in her very tranquillity that diffused itself, and
when people looked round it was because of a sudden quiet. On this occasion she had done the
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quietest thing she could do; after embracing Mrs. Osmond, which was more striking, she had sat
down on a small sofa to commune with the master of the house. There was a brief exchange of
commonplaces between these two--they always paid, in public, a certain formal tribute to the
commonplace--and then Madame Merle, whose eyes had been wandering, asked if little Mr.
Rosier had come this evening.
"He came nearly an hour ago--but he has disappeared," Osmond said.
"And where's Pansy?"
"In the other room. There are several people there."
"He's probably among them," said Madame Merle.
"Do you wish to see him?" Osmond asked in a provokingly pointless tone.
Madame Merle looked at him a moment; she knew each of his tones to the eighth of a note. "Yes, I
should like to say to him that I've told you what he wants, and that it interests you but feebly."
"Don't tell him that. He'll try to interest me more--which is exactly what I don't want. Tell him I
hate his proposal."
"But you don't hate it."
"It doesn't signify; I don't love it. I let him see that, myself, this evening; I was rude to him on
purpose. That sort of thing's a great bore. There's no hurry."
"I'll tell him that you'll take time and think it over."
"No, don't do that. He'll hang on."
"If I discourage him he'll do the same."
"Yes, but in the one case he'll try to talk and explain--which would be exceedingly tiresome. In the
other he'll probably hold his tongue and go in for some deeper game. That will leave me quiet. I
hate talking with a donkey."
"Is that what you call poor Mr. Rosier?"
"Oh, he's a nuisance--with his eternal majolica."
Madame Merle dropped her eyes; she had a faint smile. "He's a gentleman, he has a charming
temper; and, after all, an income of forty thousand francs!"
"It's misery--'genteel' misery," Osmond broke in. "It's not what I've dreamed of for Pansy."
"Very good then. He has promised me not to speak to her."
"Do you believe him?" Osmond asked absentmindedly.
"Perfectly. Pansy has thought a great deal about him; but I don't suppose you consider that that
matters."
"I don't consider it matters at all; but neither do I believe she has thought of him."
"That opinion's more convenient," said Madame Merle quietly.
"Has she told you she's in love with him?"
"For what do you take her? And for what do you take me?" Madame Merle added in a moment.
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Osmond had raised his foot and was resting his slim ankle on the other knee; he clasped his ankle
in his hand familiarly--his long, fine forefinger and thumb could make a ring for it--and gazed a
while before him. "This kind of thing doesn't find me unprepared. It's what I educated her for. It
was all for this-- that when such a case should come up she should do what I prefer."
"I'm not afraid that she'll not do it."
"Well then, where's the hitch?"
"I don't see any. But, all the same, I recommend you not to get rid of Mr. Rosier. Keep him on
hand; he may be useful."
"I can't keep him. Keep him yourself."
"Very good; I'll put him into a corner and allow him so much a day." Madame Merle had, for the
most part, while they talked, been glancing about her; it was her habit in this situation, just as it
was her habit to interpose a good many blank-looking pauses. A long drop followed the last words
I have quoted; and before it had ended she saw Pansy come out of the adjoining room, followed by
Edward Rosier. The girl advanced a few steps and then stopped and stood looking at Madame
Merle and at her father.
"He has spoken to her," Madame Merle went on to Osmond.
Her companion never turned his head. "So much for your belief in his promises. He ought to be
horsewhipped."
"He intends to confess, poor little man!"
Osmond got up; he had now taken a sharp look at his daughter. "It doesn't matter," he murmured,
turning away.
Pansy after a moment came up to Madame Merle with her little manner of unfamiliar politeness.
This lady's reception of her was not more intimate; she simply, as she rose from the sofa, gave her
a friendly smile.
"You're very late," the young creature gently said.
"My dear child, I'm never later than I intend to be."
Madame Merle had not got up to be gracious to Pansy; she moved toward Edward Rosier. He
came to meet her and, very quickly, as if to get it off his mind, "I've spoken to her!" he whispered.
"I know it, Mr. Rosier."
"Did she tell you?"
"Yes, she told me. Behave properly for the rest of the evening, and come and see me to-morrow at
a quarter past five." She was severe, and in the manner in which she turned her back to him there
was a degree of contempt which caused him to mutter a decent imprecation.
He had no intention of speaking to Osmond; it was neither the time nor the place. But he
instinctively wandered toward Isabel, who sat talking with an old lady. He sat down on the other
side of her; the old lady was Italian, and Rosier took for granted she understood no English. "You
said just now you wouldn't help me," he began to Mrs. Osmond. "Perhaps you'll feel differently
when you know--when you know--!"
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Isabel met his hesitation. "When I know what?"
"That she's all right."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, that we've come to an understanding."
"She's all wrong," said Isabel. "It won't do."
Poor Rosier gazed at her half-pleadingly, half-angrily; a sudden flush testified to his sense of
injury. "I've never been treated so," he said. "What is there against me, after all? That's not the way
I'm usually considered. I could have married twenty times."
"It's a pity you didn't. I don't mean twenty times, but once, comfortably," Isabel added, smiling
kindly. "You're not rich enough for Pansy."
"She doesn't care a straw for one's money."
"No, but her father does."
"Ah yes, he has proved that!" cried the young man.
Isabel got up, turning away from him, leaving her old lady without ceremony; and he occupied
himself for the next ten minutes in pretending to look at Gilbert Osmond's collection of miniatures,
which were neatly arranged on a series of small velvet screens. But he looked without seeing; his
cheek burned; he was too full of his sense of injury. It was certain that he had never been treated
that way before; he was not used to being thought not good enough. He knew how good he was,
and if such a fallacy had not been so pernicious he could have laughed at it. He searched again for
Pansy, but she had disappeared, and his main desire was now to get out of the house. Before doing
so he spoke once more to Isabel; it was not agreeable to him to reflect that he had just said a rude
thing to her--the only point that would now justify a low view of him.
"I referred to Mr. Osmond as I shouldn't have done, a while ago," he began. "But you must
remember my situation."
"I don't remember what you said," she answered coldly.
"Ah, you're offended, and now you'll never help me."
She was silent an instant, and then with a change of tone: "It's not that I won't; I simply can't!" Her
manner was almost passionate.
"If you COULD, just a little, I'd never again speak of your husband save as an angel."
"The inducement's great," said Isabel gravely--inscrutably, as he afterwards, to himself, called it;
and she gave him, straight in the eyes, a look which was also inscrutable. It made him remember
somehow that he had known her as a child; and yet it was keener than he liked, and he took
himself off.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
He went to see Madame Merle on the morrow, and to his surprise she let him off rather easily. But
she made him promise that he would stop there till something should have been decided. Mr.
Osmond had had higher expectations; it was very true that as he had no intention of giving his
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daughter a portion such expectations were open to criticism or even, if one would, to ridicule. But
she would advise Mr. Rosier not to take that tone; if he would possess his soul in patience he might
arrive at his felicity. Mr. Osmond was not favourable to his suit, but it wouldn't be a miracle if he
should gradually come round. Pansy would never defy her father, he might depend on that; so
nothing was to be gained by precipitation. Mr. Osmond needed to accustom his mind to an offer of
a sort that he had not hitherto entertained, and this result must come of itself--it was useless to try
to force it. Rosier remarked that his own situation would be in the meanwhile the most
uncomfortable in the world, and Madame Merle assured him that she felt for him. But, as she
justly declared, one couldn't have everything one wanted; she had learned that lesson for herself.
There would be no use in his writing to Gilbert Osmond, who had charged her to tell him as much.
He wished the matter dropped for a few weeks and would himself write when he should have
anything to communicate that it might please Mr. Rosier to hear.
"He doesn't like your having spoken to Pansy, Ah, he doesn't like it at all," said Madame Merle.
"I'm perfectly willing to give him a chance to tell me so!"
"If you do that he'll tell you more than you care to hear. Go to the house, for the next month, as
little as possible, and leave the rest to me."
"As little as possible? Who's to measure the possibility?"
"Let me measure it. Go on Thursday evenings with the rest of the world, but don't go at all at odd
times, and don't fret about Pansy. I'll see that she understands everything. She's a calm little nature;
she'll take it quietly."
Edward Rosier fretted about Pansy a good deal, but he did as he was advised, and awaited another
Thursday evening before returning to Palazzo Roccanera. There had been a party at dinner, so that
though he went early the company was already tolerably numerous. Osmond, as usual, was in the
first room, near the fire, staring straight at the door, so that, not to be distinctly uncivil, Rosier had
to go and speak to him.
"I'm glad that you can take a hint," Pansy's father said, slightly closing his keen, conscious eyes.
"I take no hints. But I took a message, as I supposed it to be."
"You took it? Where did you take it?"
It seemed to poor Rosier he was being insulted, and he waited a moment, asking himself how
much a true lover ought to submit to. "Madame Merle gave me, as I understood it, a message from
you-- to the effect that you declined to give me the opportunity I desire, the opportunity to explain
my wishes to you." And he flattered himself he spoke rather sternly.
"I don't see what Madame Merle has to do with it. Why did you apply to Madame Merle?"
"I asked her for an opinion--for nothing more. I did so because she had seemed to me to know you
very well."
"She doesn't know me so well as she thinks," said Osmond.
"I'm sorry for that, because she has given me some little ground for hope."
Osmond stared into the fire a moment. "I set a great price on my daughter."
"You can't set a higher one than I do. Don't I prove it by wishing to marry her?"
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"I wish to marry her very well," Osmond went on with a dry impertinence which, in another mood,
poor Rosier would have admired.
"Of course I pretend she'd marry well in marrying me. She couldn't marry a man who loves her
more--or whom, I may venture to add, she loves more."
"I'm not bound to accept your theories as to whom my daughter loves"--and Osmond looked up
with a quick, cold smile.
"I'm not theorising. Your daughter has spoken."
"Not to me," Osmond continued, now bending forward a little and dropping his eyes to his boot-
toes.
"I have her promise, sir!" cried Rosier with the sharpness of exasperation.
As their voices had been pitched very low before, such a note attracted some attention from the
company. Osmond waited till this little movement had subsided; then he said, all undisturbed: "I
think she has no recollection of having given it."
They had been standing with their faces to the fire, and after he had uttered these last words the
master of the house turned round again to the room. Before Rosier had time to reply he perceived
that a gentleman--a stranger--had just come in, unannounced, according to the Roman custom, and
was about to present himself to his host. The latter smiled blandly, but somewhat blankly; the
visitor had a handsome face and a large, fair beard, and was evidently an Englishman.
"You apparently don't recognise me," he said with a smile that expressed more than Osmond's.
"Ah yes, now I do. I expected so little to see you."
Rosier departed and went in direct pursuit of Pansy. He sought her, as usual, in the neighbouring
room, but he again encountered Mrs. Osmond in his path. He gave his hostess no greeting--he was
too righteously indignant, but said to her crudely: "Your husband's awfully cold-blooded."
She gave the same mystical smile he had noticed before. "You can't expect every one to be as hot
as yourself."
"I don't pretend to be cold, but I'm cool. What has he been doing to his daughter?"
"I've no idea."
"Don't you take any interest?" Rosier demanded with his sense that she too was irritating.
For a moment she answered nothing; then, "No!" she said abruptly and with a quickened light in
her eyes which directly contradicted the word.
"Pardon me if I don't believe that. Where's Miss Osmond?"
"In the corner, making tea. Please leave her there."
Rosier instantly discovered his friend, who had been hidden by intervening groups. He watched
her, but her own attention was entirely given to her occupation. "What on earth has he done to
her?" he asked again imploringly. "He declares to me she has given me up."
"She has not given you up," Isabel said in a low tone and without looking at him.
"Ah, thank you for that! Now I'll leave her alone as long as you think proper!"
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He had hardly spoken when he saw her change colour, and became aware that Osmond was
coming toward her accompanied by the gentleman who had just entered. He judged the latter, in
spite of the advantage of good looks and evident social experience, a little embarrassed. "Isabel,"
said her husband, "I bring you an old friend."
Mrs. Osmond's face, though it wore a smile, was, like her old friend's, not perfectly confident. "I'm
very happy to see Lord Warburton," she said. Rosier turned away and, now that his talk with her
had been interrupted, felt absolved from the little pledge he had just taken. He had a quick
impression that Mrs. Osmond wouldn't notice what he did.
Isabel in fact, to do him justice, for some time quite ceased to observe him. She had been startled;
she hardly knew if she felt a pleasure or a pain. Lord Warburton, however, now that he was face to
face with her, was plainly quite sure of his own sense of the matter; though his grey eyes had still
their fine original property of keeping recognition and attestation strictly sincere. He was "heavier"
