aturally she couldn't
expect him to enter into this. For the present she abstained from
provoking further revelations; to intimate that he had not told her
everything would be more familiar and less considerate than she now
desired to be--would in fact be uproariously vulgar. He had certainly
told her quite enough. It was her present inclination, however, to
express a measured sympathy for the success with which he had preserved
his independence. "That's a very pleasant life," she said, "to renounce
everything but Correggio!"

"Oh, I've made in my way a good thing of it. Don't imagine I'm whining
about it. It's one's own fault if one isn't happy."

This was large; she kept down to something smaller. "Have you lived here
always?"

"No, not always. I lived a long time at Naples, and many years in
Rome. But I've been here a good while. Perhaps I shall have to change,
however; to do something else. I've no longer myself to think of. My
daughter's growing up and may very possibly not care so much for the
Correggios and crucifixes as I. I shall have to do what's best for
Pansy."

"Yes, do that," said Isabel. "She's such a dear little girl."

"Ah," cried Gilbert Osmond beautifully, "she's a little saint of heaven!
She is my great happiness!"

CHAPTER XXV

While this sufficiently intimate colloquy (prolonged for some time after
we cease to follow it) went forward Madame Merle and her companion,
breaking a silence of some duration, had begun to exchange remarks.
They were sitting in an attitude of unexpressed expectancy; an attitude
especially marked on the part of the Countess Gemini, who, being of a
more nervous temperament than her friend, practised with less success
the art of disguising impatience. What these ladies were waiting for
would not have been apparent and was perhaps not very definite to their
own minds. Madame Merle waited for Osmond to release their young friend
from her tete-a-tete, and the Countess waited because Madame Merle did.
The Countess, moreover, by waiting, found the time ripe for one of her
pretty perversities. She might have desired for some minutes to place
it. Her brother wandered with Isabel to the end of the garden, to which
point her eyes followed them.

"My dear," she then observed to her companion, "you'll excuse me if I
don't congratulate you!"

"Very willingly, for I don't in the least know why you should."

"Haven't you a little plan that you think rather well of?" And the