"We hear, on the contrary, that you're doing great things.Every one speaks of you as a great statesman, and I'm perpetually seeing your name in the Times, which, by the way, doesn't appear to hold it in reverence.You're apparently as wild a radical as ever.""I don't feel nearly so wild; you know the world has come round to me.Touchett and I have kept up a sort of parliamentary debate all the way from London.I tell him he's the last of the Tories, and he calls me the King of the Goths-says I have, down to the details of my personal appearance, every sign of the brute.So you see there's life in him yet."Isabel had many questions to ask about Ralph, but she abstained from asking them all.She would see for herself on the morrow.She perceived that after a little Lord Warburton would tire of that subject-he had a conception of other possible topics.She was more and more able to say to herself that he had recovered, and, what is more to the point, she was able to say it without bitterness.He had been for her, of old, such an image of urgency, of insistence, of something to be resisted and reasoned with, that his reappearance at first menaced her with a new trouble.But she was now reassured; she could see he only wished to live with her on good terms, that she was to understand he had forgiven her and was incapable of the bad taste of making pointed allusions.This was not a form of revenge, of course;she had no suspicion of his wishing to punish her by an exhibition of disillusionment; she did him the justice to believe it had simply occurred to him that she would now take a good-natured interest in knowing he was resigned.It was the resignation of a healthy, manly nature, in which sentimental wounds could never fester.British politics had cured him; she had known they would.She gave an envious thought to the happier lot of men, who are always free to plunge into the healing waters of action.Lord Warburton of course spoke of the past, but he spoke of it without implications; he even went so far as to allude to their former meeting in Rome as a very jolly time.And he told her he had been immensely interested in hearing of her marriage and that it was a great pleasure for him to make Mr.Osmond's acquaintance-since he could hardly be said to have made it on the other occasion.He had not written to her at the time of that passage in her history, but he didn't apologize to her for this.The only thing he implied was that they were old friends, intimate friends.It was very much as an intimate friend that he said to her, suddenly, after a short pause which he had occupied in smiling, as he looked about him, like a person amused, at a provincial entertainment, by some innocent game of guesses -"Well now, I suppose you're very happy and all that sort of thing?"Isabel answered with a quick laugh; the tone of his remark struck her almost as the accent of comedy."Do you suppose if I were not I'd tell you?" "Well, I don't know.I don't see why not.""I do then.Fortunately, however, I'm very happy.""You've got an awfully good house."
"Yes, it's very pleasant.But that's not my merit-it's my husband's.""You mean he has arranged it?"
"Yes, it was nothing when we came."
"He must be very clever."
"He has a genius for upholstery," said Isabel.
"There's a great rage for that sort of thing now.But you must have a taste of your own.""I enjoy things when they're done, but I've no ideas.I can never propose anything.""Do you mean you accept what others propose?""Very willingly, for the most part."
"That's a good thing to know.I shall propose to you something.""It will be very kind.I must say, however, that I've in a few small ways a certain initiative.I should like for instance to introduce you to some of these people.""Oh, please don't; I prefer sitting here.Unless it be to that young lady in the blue dress.She has a charming face.""The one talking to the rosy young man? That's my husband's daughter.""Lucky man, your husband.What a dear little maid!
"You must make her acquaintance."
"In a moment-with pleasure.I like looking at her from here." He ceased to look at her, however, very soon; his eyes constantly reverted to Mrs.Osmond."Do you know I was wrong just now in saying you had changed?" he presently went on."You seem to me, after all, very much the same.""And yet I find it a great change to be married," said Isabel with mild gaiety.
"It affects most people more than it has affected you.You see Ihaven't gone in for that."
"It rather surprises me."
"You ought to understand it, Mrs.Osmond.But I do want to marry,"he added more simply.
"It ought to be very easy," Isabel said, rising-after which she reflected, with a pang perhaps too visible, that she was hardly the person to say this.It was perhaps because Lord Warburton divined the pang that he generously forbore to call her attention to her not having contributed then to the facility.
Edward Rosier had meanwhile seated himself on an ottoman beside Pansy's tea-table.He pretended at first to talk to her about trifles, and she asked him who was the new gentleman conversing with her stepmother.
"He's an English lord," said Rosier."I don't know more.""I wonder if he'll have some tea.The English are so fond of tea.""Never mind that; I've something particular to say to you.""Don't speak so loud-every one will hear," said Pansy.
"They won't hear if you continue to look that way; as if your only thought in life was the wish the kettle would boil.""It has just been filled; the servants never know!"-she sighed with the weight of her responsibility.
"Do you know what your father said to me just now? That you didn't mean what you said a week ago.""I don't mean everything I say.How can a young girl do that? But I mean what I say to you.""He told me you had forgotten me."
"Ah no, I don't forget," said Pansy, showing her pretty teeth in a fixed smile.
"Then everything's just the very same?"
"Ah no, not the very same.Papa has been terribly severe.""What has he done to you?"
"He asked me what you had done to me, and I told him everything.
Then he forbade me to marry you."
"You needn't mind that."
"Oh yes, I must indeed.I can't disobey papa.""Not for one who loves you as I do, and whom you pretend to love?"She raised the lid of the tea-pot, gazing into this vessel for a moment; then she dropped six words into its aromatic depths."I love you just as much.""What good will that do me?"
"Ah," said Pansy, raising her sweet, vague eyes, "I don't know that.""You disappoint me," groaned poor Rosier.
She was silent a little; she handed a tea-cup to a servant.
"Please don't talk any more."
"Is this to be all my satisfaction?"
"Papa said I was not to talk with you."
"Do you sacrifice me like that? Ah, it's too much!
"I wish you'd wait a little," said the girl in a voice just distinct enough to betray a quaver.
"Of course I'll wait if you'll give me hope.But you take my life away.""I'll not give you up-oh no!" Pansy went on.
"He'll try and make you marry some one else.""I'll never do that."
"What then are we to wait for?"
She hesitated again."I'll speak to Mrs.Osmond and she'll help us."It was in this manner that she for the most part designated her stepmother.
"She won't help us much.She's afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Of your father, I suppose."
Pansy shook her little head."She's not afraid of any one.We must have patience.""Ah, that's an awful word," Rosier groaned; he was deeply disconcerted.Oblivious of the customs of good society, he dropped his head into his hands and, supporting it with a melancholy grace, sat staring at the carpet.Presently he became aware of a good deal of movement about him and, as he looked up, saw Pansy making a curtsey-it was still her little curtsey of the convent-to the English lord whom Mrs.Osmond had introduced.
