ourself. But
together you're dangerous--like some chemical combination."

"You had better leave us alone then," smiled Madame Merle.

"I don't mean to touch you--but I shall talk to that girl."

"My poor Amy," Madame Merle murmured, "I don't see what has got into
your head."

"I take an interest in her--that's what has got into my head. I like
her."

Madame Merle hesitated a moment. "I don't think she likes you."

The Countess's bright little eyes expanded and her face was set in a
grimace. "Ah, you ARE dangerous--even by yourself!"

"If you want her to like you don't abuse your brother to her," said
Madame Merle.

"I don't suppose you pretend she has fallen in love with him in two
interviews."

Madame Merle looked a moment at Isabel and at the master of the house.
He was leaning against the parapet, facing her, his arms folded; and
she at present was evidently not lost in the mere impersonal view,
persistently as she gazed at it. As Madame Merle watched her she lowered
her eyes; she was listening, possibly with a certain embarrassment,
while she pressed the point of her parasol into the path. Madame Merle
rose from her chair. "Yes, I think so!" she pronounced.

The shabby footboy, summoned by Pansy--he might, tarnished as to livery
and quaint as to type, have issued from some stray sketch of old-time
manners, been "put in" by the brush of a Longhi or a Goya--had come out
with a small table and placed it on the grass, and then had gone back
and fetched the tea-tray; after which he had again disappeared, to
return with a couple of chairs. Pansy had watched these proceedings with
the deepest interest, standing with her small hands folded together
upon the front of her scanty frock; but she had not presumed to offer
assistance. When the tea-table had been arranged, however, she gently
approached her aunt.

"Do you think papa would object to my making the tea?"

The Countess looked at her with a deliberately critical gaze and without
answering her question. "My poor niece," she said, "is that your best
frock?"

"Ah no," Pansy answered, "it's just a little toilette for common
occasions."

"Do you call it a common occasion when I come to see you?--to say
nothing of Madame Merle and the pretty lady yonder."

Pansy reflected a moment, turning gravely from one of the persons
mentioned to the other. Then her face broke into its perfect smile.
"I have a pretty dress, but even that one's very simple. Why should